Girls Will Be Girls
by Adelled
Summary: A witness run amok, Marshall dating, and Mary in a gay bar. What's wrong with this picture?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine. Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Saturday morning. 

Shuffling down the porch stairs to his driveway, Marshall Mann soaked in the unobstructed view of the Sandia Mountains, the blue sky and sighed. Witness visits completed. Witness visit reports signed off. No one in jail. None of his partner's family members in jail. The true meaning of peace.

Time to give his truck the TLC it deserved. He wore an old pair of jeans and a wifebeater. He didn't mind getting wet. With the hot sun heating up his world it would feel good to get wet. Wet, wet t-shirts. Wet white t-shirts. Shit. Last night's dream surfaced with a vengeance in detail. His partner, his Mary wearing a white t-shirt and nothing else. A wet white v-neck t-shirt. Wrenching his thoughts away from the dream he resolved to work. The truck wasn't going to wash itself.

He had survived an entire 10 minutes without thinking of his partner. He had to move on. Dating Abigail, spending time with her was the way to push Mary Shannon from his consciousness. At least that was the theory. In practice, not so much. The abrasive, brave, brash blonde had taken root in his soul.

Bucket, body work shampoo, chamois, squeegee, warm water, and a step stool were carefully arranged at the side of the car. Even he needed a step stool to reach the center of the truck's roof. He started at the top, as he'd been taught. He concentrated on the sheet metal, trying to forget last night's dream. He had an entire encyclopedia, hell an entire library of dreams about her. Before he realized it he had finished the roof, the hood and the sides and was starting on the wheel covers.

"Hey Marshall!"

Squatting by the tires, Marshall couldn't see who was addressing him, but it sounded like... Peeking through the driver's side window he could see his visitor. "Hey Abigail," he greeted the perky brunette. "What brings you here?" He stood to greet the detective.

"Sorry I missed our dance class last night." She ducked her head, not wanting him to catch her staring at the expanse of chest clearly visible under his wet wifebeater. "I'm sure there were lots of other women willing to take you for a whirl." She was aware that Marshall had caught the eye of several dance students. Not all of them were female. Needing a better view, Abigail moved closer.

Marshall had found a dance partner for the class. The tall blonde claimed her partner was out of town. She was light on her feet and followed his lead better than Abigail. Not that he'd ever tell her. The only problem was that she reminded him of another blonde. One with a callused trigger finger and a caustic tongue.

"S'ok, comes with the job. I understand." He sat back down on the stool spraying mud off the wheel covers. Turning toward Abigail, the sun in his eyes, he blinked. But it wasn't the sun. It was that he could look up her skirt. It didn't help that she was standing in a way that widened the opening. Marshall could feel himself turning pink. He hoped she thought it was the sun. He kept his eyes on the wheel covers. His mother would be proud.

Abigail looked down at the tall lawman. "I saw Mary last night."

Of all the topics he expected Abigail to bring up, this wasn't one of them.

"Oh?" Why would Abigail be meeting Mary? Were the women in his life ganging up on him? Comparing notes? If Abigail ever heard Mary's rants on his 'girly' ways she'd never date him. He and Mary used to spend Friday nights at Two Fools. With a start he realized they hadn't been out for drinks in two months. He had no idea how she spend Friday nights.

"We were doing a sweep of the Pagoda, it's a ..." As she hesitated Marshall realized she was uncomfortable discussing a lesbian bar with him.

Marshall chanced a look, relieved that she had moved and he no longer could see up her skirt. He gave her a tight but knowing smile. "I know what it is."

"Of course you do, you're a United States Marshal," she broadcast loudly with teasing sass.

"Yes, I am." Marshall stated quietly, giving the detective a tight smile. He didn't take kindly to having the fact that he is a Marshal announced to his neighbors. Old Mrs. Pinckney probably had her hearing aid cranked up. He had seen her curtains move and was certain she was watching. She'd been trying to get Marshall to meet her niece.

"Like I said, we were at the Pagoda when I saw something surprising."

"I'm sure there are lots of surprising things going on in that place." Marshall concentrated on removing road dirt with a soft brush. He and Mary had been to the Pagoda when they were investigating the murder of a woman who had just come out to their lesbian witness.

Abigail must have run into Mary on her way to or from the Pagoda. Lots of bars and 'entertainment venues' in that neighborhood. But not Mary's usual hunting grounds. Not the way she usually spent Friday nights. Or at least not the way she used to spend them.

"Yes. We didn't exactly exchange greetings because she was otherwise 'engaged.'"

"Engaged?" He drawled the word out as if it had a bad taste. He raised his eyebrows underlining the word. Engaged brought back painful memories of Mary's brief engagement to Raph. What kind of engagement could Abigail mean?

Abigail stumbled over the words. "Mary was sitting in a booth swapping spit with a dark haired woman. I didn't see her face but I caught a glimpse of the Marshal star tucked behind her belt when her tank top rode up during the . . . .uh.. . . encounter." She'd spoken the entire statement as quickly as possible. Like yanking off a band aid.

Marshall choked and covered it by pretending he had inhaled soap suds. His mouth had dropped open at 'swapping spit.' Then he remembered the time in the barn when Mary had 'smeared lipstick' on him. Mary had done some extreme things to protect her witnesses. Marshall had no doubt that she would do whatever it took, regardless of her personal preferences. He quickly rifled through his mental rolodex trying to figure out which witness Mary might be hiding. Helen Traylon was no longer in Albuquerque. He couldn't think of another witness who would be interested in what the Pagoda had to offer.

He tried to contain the jolt he felt when he saw a connection. Had Mary's experience with Faber been so awful that she was now batting for the other team? If any man could turn a woman against the male sex, FBI agent Mike Faber was the one.

Wiping the suds from his face the usually loquacious, even verbose, Marshall said "Oh," his eyes vacant.

"Is that all you have to say? Oh?" Abigail thought Marshall would express more interest in this development. Abigail had heard the numerous rumors of Mary's catting around. Many of them involved Marshall. Abigail wasn't sure how much credence to give the rumors. Maybe they were a well constructed cover for her actual sexual orientation with Marshall's help?

Law enforcement had to live clean. Blackmail was the downfall of many an officer. The US Marshal's had a reputation for being macho straight. A woman in a male dominated agency couldn't be too girly. The rough and ready men would eat her alive. Abigail understood that. But ABQPD had many women on the force at all levels. Mary was the only female marshal she'd met.

"You're sure it was Mary?" He tried to lower his voice, making it deep, masculine, not the high pitched squeak he heard in his mind. Abigail was a detective, trained to observe, but even trained observers made mistakes. Maybe Abigail wanted to discredit Mary?

"How many female marshals with long blonde hair are there in Albuquerque?" Good question. WITSEC inspectors didn't talk about their personal lives. That included the number and gender of marshals in the local marshal's office. He nodded and acknowledging her statement with a wry smile.

"What Mary does in her personal life on her own time has never been my business." Despite that statement Marshall was sure Mary had not changed teams. She had never appeared bi-curious. She couldn't even watch when their female engraver witness kissed the female CIA operative.

Despite her rough and tumble demeanor, Mary had never appeared anything but wantonly womanly. Her tight tank tops and form fitting jeans flaunted her curves, her generous cleavage . . . . _Rein it in Marshall._

"Marshall?" He'd been brushing the same wheel cover since Abigail mentioned the Pagoda. Mary had a starring role in his fantasies and his dreams from the beginning. These days he quickly quashed any day time fantasies but had no control over his bed time dreams. Reminded again of last night's dream, he groaned.

Realizing Abigail was looking at him strangely, he smiled, "These corners are always hard to get clean. Want me to wash your car? I'll move my truck and we can give yours the Marshall treatment."

"Why Marshal Marshall Mann, that is so sweet of you!" Abigail exclaimed. Marshall ducked his head to hide his grimace. He liked the cheery Detective, but her voice could grate like nails on a black board.

"Sure. Marshall's Car Wash, nobody does it like we do."

"I'm sure," Abigail purred.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Girls Will Be Girls – Chapter. 2

Two Weeks Earlier

The WITSEC office was quiet. Too quiet for Mary Shannon. Ever since her return from Mexico Marshall had been _polite_. He left the office on solo witness visits the last time she tried to start a spitball battle. Stan, was, well, Stan, quietly busy in his office, making phone calls, keeping Allison Pierson at bay. Rumor had it there would be new Inspectors joining them soon. Mary groaned at the thought of newbies with their millions of questions, lack of experience and questionable judgment. She prayed none of them would be cheerful. She couldn't take cheerful.

Coffee. What she needed was coffee. She looked over at Marshall, his eyes glued to his computer. He was either running in a threat assessment or playing chess with the Russian wonderkind. _Ugh_. Did she say that out loud? She couldn't seem to wait till her brain was in gear before blurting. She'd never censored herself before and certainly not around Marshall. Since her Mexican vacation, and his new girlfriend, he had treated her professionally. She was determined to do the same. The effort sucked the energy right out of her. Since Marshall didn't react to her wonderkind jibe, Mary assumed she hadn't said it out loud. She missed the camaraderie they once had. _Suck it up, Shannon. Face it, you did this._

Heading for the coffee pot Mary felt her phone vibrate. She'd turned it to vibrate at the office. She wasn't trying to be considerate. She liked the vibration, especially when she had the phone in her front pocket. Deep in her front pocket. This made digging it out take a little time, but hey, it was worth it. And just about the only action she'd been getting.

Mary didn't recognize the number but she answered. Witnesses were always losing phones or in an emergency, borrowing one. As long as it wasn't Brandi or Jinx, she answered.

"This is Mary."

Marshall turned to see what the call was about. It could be a witness, work related. If it wasn't, he was going to lecture her about the personal use of government property again. He knew the rules and procedures that Mary routinely ignored without consequence. He was going to change that. It was time she dealt with the repercussions of her actions.

Although he watched closely, he couldn't tell who had called. Mary's side of the conversation was limited to a few 'uh huhs' a 'you really think . . . " ending with a 'sure,' Mary ended the call and worked on worming the phone back into her pocket. Marshall suppressed a smile with effort. Watching Mary struggling with her tight jeans for her phone was entertaining. As long as she didn't catch him.

"Who was that?" Marshall asked pointedly. As her partner he was entitled to be kept in the loop. She hadn't been talking to him. To be fair, he hadn't been in the office much.

"Huh?" Mary was lost in thought. She turned her head at the sound of Marshall's voice, splitting the silence. Turning away from him and toward her desk she formulated a reply. Plan in place she leaning against the side of her desk. Placing the mug on her desk she placed her hands flat on the desk behind her.

"Casavetti." She emphasized with a nod. There had been something 'off' about Martha last time Mary visited. _Yeah, lets's go with that._

"Martha is worried about Roman. She thinks he's 'withdrawing from the family.' She made air quotes around the last phrase and lowered her head, eyes open wide, hands on hips. "He's a teenager. Of course he's 'withdrawn.' That's the definition of teenager."

"So?" he drew out the word, making it a question. When she didn't respond he prompted, "What did you do?"

Putting her free hand over her eyes to signal he had to be the stupidest man in the universe, she explained. "I listened, alright? I listened."

"And?" Her avoidance exasperated him. Not an uncommon experience for anyone who worked with Mary Shannon. What was she hiding? Leaning back in his chair he skewered her with his full attention.

"Martha talked and I listened. She came up with her own solution." Mary muttered over her shoulder as she picked up her mug and headed for the coffee pot.

Turning around so he could follow her he continued, asking, "Which was?" he drew out the last word, not hiding his exasperation.

Walking back to her desk with her coffee she sat examining it. "She's going to lure him to stay for dinner by making his favorite dish, sit him down and get him to talk about school, his friends, blah, blah, blah," she spit out as quickly as she could. "She'll call me if she's still worried."

Swiveling quickly back to his desk, he nodded. "Sounds good." He was surprised that Mary would actually listen to a witness, and give them time to arrive at a solution. That was his approach. Hers was to dive in and fix the problem even when she didn't know what it was. She probably didn't want to admit that she had learned something from him. "Why couldn't you just say that?"

Her hair whirled as she faced him, eyes narrowed. "What's with the twenty questions? I know how to do my job Nurse Nancy."

"I never said you didn't," Marshall muttered mildly, turning his eyes back to the computer screen.

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Mary hadn't been to the shooting range for a week. Once she was recertified other things took precedence. She enjoyed shooting. Aiming and hitting the target was close to a religious experience, being "in the zone." The cares of her day, her family, her witnesses, her annoying hang nails, her too quiet partner, faded once she put on her Sonic Defenders. There was just her, the gun and her target.

As instructed by the phone call, her duffel bag was behind her station against the wall, the zipper open. After she finished, she collected her paper targets, signed out, and picked up the bag, now zipped shut. Once in her car, she opened it to find a photo of ABQPD's Northeast Area Commander and Mike Washington, one of her scumbag witnesses. Mike seemed to be handing the Commander something. _Hmm_. Mike would be getting a surprise visit from his least favorite marshal very soon.

Turning the photo over, she saw the time, date, and location for the next meeting, a week from today. Mary was definitely interested. She'd wanted to bust the creep the first time she saw him. She couldn't figure why DoJ believed him. His best look would be prison orange. As much as she hated firing her weapon and the after action paperwork, she would welcome a reason to take a shot at Mayhem Mike. He'd never live to file a complaint.

Lunch over, Mary returned to the office. She couldn't get the shooting range and the photo out of her mind. Pushing her disgust for Washington aside, she wondered what else Detective Roxanne Lewis knew, and why she chose to contact Mary. They didn't exactly become BFFs when Lewis's partner was murdered. Mary had found her partner's killer, but she doubted that counted. The photo Roxanne had put in her duffel bag was enough to ensure that Mike would be seeing her soon. Marshall watched, wondering what had caused Mary to grab her jacket, badge and gun and charge out of the office. They were supposed to be partners. She was supposed to tell him. He turned back to his work. He wasn't going to beg.

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Several loud knocks at Mike's apartment door had gotten no response. Mary yelled. "Open up Mike. It's Inspector Shepard."

The faded brown apartment door opened revealing a tall, broad, grey haired man wearing a Hawaiian print shirt. The public deserved to be protected from seeing the large purple veined legs visible below his khaki shorts. Mary suppressed a shudder knowing she couldn't show any weakness in front of this waste of space.

"Ah Mary." He seemed surprised. "You got here so quickly." His eyes settled on Mary's tank top visible through her open jacket.

Confused Mary responded hesitantly, "You know, neither rain nor snow nor ..." She paused looking at the hitman, squinting her eyes. "You called?"

"That fucking washing machine." Although his exasperation was real, she wondered if he had actually called. She didn't remember seeing his number on her phone.

"Washing machine?" She reiterated, puzzled. Why would anyone call a US Marshal about a washing machine?

"You always said to call if I needed anything. That damn thing has more lights than the control panel of an airplane. I can't get it to do anything."

Mike had never done his own laundry. As a made man his shirts, socks and even his jockey shorts went to a Chicago laundry in the pocket of his boss. Picking up a cluster of keys, he went out the door and grabbed Mary's hand. Mary pulled her hand back, but he hung on and dragged her quickly down the stairs to the first floor laundry room. "Let go, Mike. Dammit, I'm going to fall on your carcass and break your friggin legs. Let go!"

Mike unlocked the laundry room door and pulled Mary inside. It wasn't a basement, but the cement walls and wooden post in the middle of the room were too much like Spanky's basement. The room was dimly lit by a single lint covered window. Mary tried to slow her breathing. _That's all I need – to pass out with this hump able to touch me._

Mike turned and grabbed her arms. "You've been busting my balls forever, blondie. Time for some of your own medicine." He slammed the door shut.

The cement walls, the wooden post, the threatening man all triggered memories. Bad ones. Channeling her fear into anger, Mary let her marshal training take over. Before he uttered another word, her knee found his crotch at the exact moment her head connected with his nose. Mike might have been muscle back in the day, but now he was just fat.

His hands hovered between his face and the family jewels."You fucking bitch." Except she heard "Ew uck itch" since his voice was filtered by cartilage and blood.

Mary didn't care what he said. Once his hands came off her arms, her gun came out. Stepping back, in shooting position, her breath came in gulps. "Try it. Anything. Make my day," she warned. _You can't lose it now Shannon. You can fall apart later._

"Olice brut-y." He managed to get out.

"You think that was police brutality? You haven't seen police brutality. That was a federal officer defending herself from assault." Mary was battling her traumatic memories and so far, winning.

Blood had stopped flowing from Mike's nose. He grabbed a forgotten t-shirt, and wiped his face. "I'm going to report you to the US Attorney. I'll get you," he threatened. The fact that his voice was muffled by the t-shirt made his threats less convincing. "They need me. They don't need you! Bitch!"

Mary sneered. "You're going to tell your buddies you were beat by a girl?" She paused. Sure enough, she could see his macho pride take over. She'd bet on it. She was almost sure it was a winning bet, but was relieved to see the gambit work.

"We're done here," Mary declared, holstering her gun and standing with her hand on the doorknob. " I'm watching you," She pointed at Mike and then shook her finger as she continued. "You so much as jaywalk and I will have you in jail and out of the program faster than you can say plea bargain."

Mary turned her back on him and strode through the door closing it with a resounding slam. She scrambled into her purple Probe and squealed out of the parking lot, relieved that it had started on the first try. She drove too fast down the residential street, slowing to turn right then left. Braking, she pulled to the curb.

Putting the car in park, she put her trembling hands to her face. Much to her disgust, her fingers found her cheeks wet. _Pull yourself together Shannon. Nothing happened. _Placing her hands on the steering wheel she saw the start of black and blue marks on her left and right forearms. _Shit. Good thing the weather is getting cool._ _Long sleeves it is_. She was sure no one would notice. It's not as if Marshall spent a lot of time with her now.

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One week later

Mary sauntered into the Pagoda, giving the place the once over her marshal training made routine. Her eyes narrowed when she saw a few men at the bar – or were they? The music was muted and the neon lights provided most of the illumination. The bartender wasn't the one who hit on Marshall the last time she was here. Good. It was never a good idea for civilians to know her job. Guilt at the memory of telling Raph she was a WITSEC Inspector surfaced and was quickly forced to retreat. You don't get to rewrite history.

Mary checked that her marshals star was tucked in back inside the waist band of her jeans. It tended to spook the natives and that wasn't why she was here. Her focus traveled to the booths in back where a dark haired woman sat alone. Their eyes met in the mirrored back wall. _Smart choice, Roxanne_.

After getting a beer, Mary walked to booth and nodded at Detective Lewis. "Hey." Roxanne's dark hair hung down. When she leaned forward, it covered some of her face. Great minds, Mary thought. She had worn her hair down for the same reason.

Reaching the table, Roxanne lifted her beer. "You never know who might turn up here." Roxanne tipped her head to the bench next to her.

Mary sat, scooting close enough to speak without being overheard. "You a regular here?"

Roxanne pursed her lips to prevent spraying her beer. "No! What gave you that idea? Just because my partner. . . "

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. There's less chance of our coworkers seeing us here." Mary knew Detective Lewis' current partner belonged to a church singles group. He was not going to show up here. Marshall had 'dance' class.

Mary took a sip of her beer, setting the bottle down. "You must have more than you gave me."

Roxanne was concentrating on the label of her beer. "Oh yeah. I've got so much I don't dare go to IA with it."

"You think Internal Affairs is involved?" That explained why Roxanne had come to her. If the corruption was that widespread Roxanne couldn't trust anyone in ABQPD.

"I don't know. You hear about Officer Thomas?" She took a sip.

"The officer who was shot in Cinco Viper territory? I heard. Tough when you lose one of your own." Mary wondered what Officer Thomas had to do with Mike Washington.

So quiet, Mary could barely hear her, "They suppressed the initial coroner's report."

Mary's eyes widened and she chanced a look at Roxanne. "Who suppressed it?"

Shrugging, Roxanne pointed up with her bottle. Lowering her mouth to her drink Roxanne continued, "One of the guys who saw the original report says it has the bullet entering from the back. It has to be someone high up to get the report pulled and the modified one made official."

Mary put down her beer looked straight ahead and shrugged. "So, the department didn't want to look bad. Friendly fire. Tragic, but it happens. I can see why they'd want to bury it."

"Not so friendly." Roxanne insisted.

Mary scanned her table mate, trying to figure what Roxanne was thinking. Turning the possibilities Mary came to an appalling conclusion. "You think he was targeted?" she whispered, incredulous.

Roxanne nodded, watching Mary peel the label off her beer bottle. "There's more. When I cleaned out Thomas's locker this fell out of an old issue of _Guns and Ammo_." She handed Mary a handwritten note with 5 names.

"I think Thomas discovered something. . ." she searched for a word. "Irregular. I think he was investigating these people. I think what he knew got him killed."

Mary sat back, absorbing the ramifications of what she had heard. When the good guys became the bad guys all bets were off. Mary sighed, "Trust no one."

"Exactly. That photo isn't the only evidence. I've noticed cops I've seen at the station all day logged onto the patrol car computers. Pretty good trick being in two places at once. I've seen reports listing arresting officers, whose names aren't on that day's roll call. I think anyone who brings these things to IA's attention ends up leaving the department or dead."

"Anyone beside Thomas come to mind?"

"Yeah. Dershowitz. He left. Glen Richards died of a heart attack last year. He was in good enough shape to pass the physical the month before, but had a major heart attack less than 30 days later."

Looking at the mirrored back wall, Mary's eyes opened wide. "Crap. What is she doing here?"

Roxanne looked up and saw Detective Abigail Chaffee sauntering into the bar with two female uniforms. Roxanne groaned. "Just my luck. She's looking for a lesbian drug dealer."

"Look," Mary warned. "She can't see us. I'm going to keep her from seeing our faces. Just go with it, okay?"

Her face reflecting Mary's concern, Roxanne placed her bottle on the table. "Whatever it takes."

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Following week, WITSEC office

Detective Lewis had given Mary more evidence, the list of names. It included three officers and two city officials as well as Mike Washington. "Let's start with the obvious," Mary mumbled, checking Mike Washington's financials. She knew Marshall was behind her, enjoying his triple caf half caf whatever. She thought he was appreciating the view of the Sandia Mountains through the glass doors leading to the balcony. It made her nervous to have anyone behind her. Sensing him closer, behind her, she turned and glared at him.

Daring to come closer, Marshall leaned down to see Mary's computer screen. "Why" he drawled out "are you checking Mayhem Mike's accounts?"

Hunched over her keyboard, forehead knit in concentration, she vowed, "He's going to screw up, and I'm going to get him."

Moving closer to focus on the screen Marshall asked, "How many bank accounts does this guy have? I count five. Scroll down."

Mary scrolled down revealing additional accounts, including one bank with an odd name.

"That's in the Cayman Islands. When did he open that? And how did he do it without alerting the Marshal Service?"

Narrowing her eyes at Marshall, Mary asked, "How do you know that?" This could be key to getting Mayhem Mike kicked out of WITSEC. She wanted to know how Marshall knew, be sure of the facts.

"I make it a practice to be familiar with all off shore banks that can be used to shelter assets. I have a buddy in bank fraud who sends me the list every time it's updated."

"Huh." Mary cut her eyes to him. "So that's why you go to those nerd herd things? Never realized those could be useful." She turned back to the screen. "Useful for you, and this time, for me." Her tone was cheerful. She really meant it. A compliment from Mary was as rare as snow in July. Marshall was on guard. It wasn't like her to be kind.

"Here, let me." He gestured for Mary to get up. Marshall sat down, flexed his fingers and began to work his magic. Mary leaned over, both hands on her desktop. She could smell his aftershave. It had been weeks since she'd been this close to him. She fought the urge to put her hand on his shoulder, to bring her face next to his.

Marshall looked to see why Mary was quiet, coloring when he realized his nose was in line with her cleavage. Tank tops really have their advantages. Mary exhaled sharply and straightened quickly. "See anything interesting?"

_Oh yeah. _From this angle Marshall had a good view of two of Mary's assets.

Marshall coughed and got up. He needed to concentrate on Mayhem Mike's assets. "I've got a couple of access points to the banking system. I need to do this on my computer."

"He's my witness," Mary insisted grumpily, crossing her arms. Mary didn't want Marshall's help. He wasn't the only one who could keep things 'professional.' Besides, she had no idea where this was going. If Roxanne's info was correct, this was big, and dangerous.

"Division of labor Mare. My brain, your mouth. We each do what we do best," Marshall smirked.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this[J1] .

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Chapter 3

Later that week

From his office Stan had a clear view of his two Inspectors. When he wanted to talk to them he usually left his office and went to their desks. He didn't expect a light knock on his door and certainly didn't expect to see Mary with official forms in her hand. He beckoned her in, pushed his chair back, folded his arms over his stomach and waited.

"Hey Chief." Mary smiled, fidgeting with the papers she held. In the warmth of the office, she fanned herself with the papers causing the Chief to focus on her tight tank top. Realizing his gaze had landed somewhere inappropriate, he zeroed in on the papers she held.

"You know how you're always bugging me to take vacation time?" Mary sat on the edge of the chair in front of his desk. She was still smiling. Stan found it unnerving. He scooted closer to his desk and absent mindedly shuffled some papers. Hazarding another look at his Inspector he could see her pleading expression and watery smile. "It's one of many regulations you ignore," he reminded her.

"Well I'm ready to take a few days off," she announced. "Not too long," she added. She didn't want him to think she would leave her witnesses for an extended time. "Just a long weekend, say Friday to Monday," she explained.

Taking in her earnest expression and polite request, he asked. "When exactly?"

She coughed nervously. Her hair fell forward, her eyes sought the floor. If Stan didn't know better he would think she was embarrassed. "This weekend," she said quietly. It sounded halfway between a statement and a question.

"What about your witnesses?" His job was to oversee his Inspectors. Mary and Marshall knew their jobs, and he had been busy defending the existence of the Albuquerque WITSEC office. He hadn't checked any of Mary's recent work.

"I'm caught up on visits," she supplied eagerly, eyes wide, still smiling with teeth showing. Stan couldn't decide if she looked friendly or vicious – like a dog baring its teeth before growling. He was about to interrupt when she added, "and reports." She gestured to the inbox on his desk.

Leaning forward he rifled through the stack of reports, noting her signature and dates. "What do you know? There's a first time for everything." Stan's worry furrows melted. He was pleased and sat back, smiling broadly. Despite the change in their partnership, or maybe because of it, Mary was turning over a new leaf. Timely reports. Respectful requests. He could get used to that.

Since he still hadn't said yes, Mary added, "I've already asked Marshall to be on call. He said it wouldn't be a problem." Not quite true. She hadn't actually asked him yet. But a few weeks ago they had talked about taking time off. She figured that had to count. It was the first time in two months she would ask Marshall for anything. She hated to do it, but she would.

"You know, Mary," he reminded her gently, hands clasped in front of him, leaning across the desk. "I was an Inspector once. Your witnesses can call me."

Lowering her head, she murmured, "Yeah, yeah. I get that. But they already have Marshall's number." There was that toothy smile again. "I'll tell Marshall he can call you if he's busy?" _If Marshall was busy it would be because he was going to the Unclear Science Museum with Detective Cheerleader. His idea of fun._

"Of course" Stan agreed. "If you took vacations, you would know that."

She put the vacation request on his desk. Stan picked it up and before signing it, scratched out the start date. "Take Thursday too. The witnesses have been quiet and the higher ups are on vacation. You deserve the time off. Relax for once." Looking up, he thrust the signed paperwork into her waiting hand. "You have plans?"

Stan realized too late that his innocuous question could be taken as an invasion of privacy by the often prickly Inspector. He was fond of Mary, and amazed at the way she got witnesses to toe the line. He wasn't sure if it was her looks or her threats, but she got to witnesses to focus on their new lives.

"Yeah, yeah I do," she softly admitted, not meeting his gaze. Standing she looked over Stan's head. "I'm going out of town. Visiting old friends."

That rang alarm bells. As far as Stan knew, Mary didn't have any friends, besides Marshall. Lately even she and Marshall hadn't been very friendly. Still, she had worked on the Fugitive Task Force for several years. Friendships are made in pressure cauldrons like that. Maybe was she was going to visit her old Chief. The way she had carefully filled out the vacation request, following protocol for once, told him this was important. If it was important to her, it was important to him. He would do his best to make certain her few days off weren't interrupted.

"Good, that's good. Mary. Have a nice visit," Stan replied uncomfortably, filing her vacation request.

"Thanks Stan."

Stan watched as she left his office and went to her partner's desk. Their conversation was brief. Marshall nodded, and glanced Stan's way, giving Stan a thumbs up. Instead of returning to her desk, Mary continued to the balcony. Once there she got out her phone. Stan wasn't the only one watching her.

The late afternoon sun warmed her back. Once the balcony doors closed, Mary dialed. "Hey Bobby."

_"__Marshal Shannon, as I live and breath. Who are you chasing now? You can't be calling me for personal reasons."_

"I got a hankering for real deep dish pizza. Know where I can get some?"

_"__Get some?"_ Dershowitz teased. _"Chicago created deep dish! There are several great pizza places within walking distance of my place. Why don't you drop by and we'll check them out."_

"I'd like that Bobby."

_"__Seriously?"_

"Yeah, really. Do you think you're going to be tied up this weekend."

Dershowitz inhaled quickly. Her inadvertent use of the words tied up brought the image of Mary Shannon, handcuffed to a post in Spanky's basement to mind. The sweat, blood and brains had left a permanent imprint in his personal gallery of horrors.

_"__Nope. Just finished a case. The paperwork will take me the rest of the week, but I should be free by Friday."_

"I'll be there Friday."

_"__Fine. Send me the details and I'll come to the airport."_

"You don't have to do that. I just need a place to crash for a couple nights."

_"__No way. None of that. You're staying with me. I've got a spare bedroom. Actually, it's my home office with a sleeper couch."_

"You host a lot of sleepovers?" she teased.

_"__Family. They stay with me from time to time."_

Family? She had always wondered why the handsome black detective had a Jewish last name. "I'd like to meet your family."

_"__Really?" _Dershowitz was blown away by Mary's thoughtful request. She'd never seemed interested before. Maybe she had moved on from Marshall and now had room for a man in her life. But why come all the way to Chicago? What the hell? Whatever the reason Bobby was forward to seeing the blonde marshal.

"Yeah. I always wanted to know how you came by your last name."

Bobby chuckled. _"Oh yeah. That is a long story."_

"Maybe we'll have time this weekend." Mary's voice was bright and warm.

_"__Sure. Send me your flight information. I'll meet you at the airport."_

"Okay"

She gave in. She had already figured having Bobby met her flight was easiest. She wasn't as sure about accepting his hospitality, but she wasn't familiar with O'Hare. Marshall never used it for witness transfers—too busy. Once they got to talk about the ABQPD, Bobby would know this wasn't a booty call. She walked to the balcony door, preparing to end the phone call.

_"__Call when you get in, girl."_

"Shalom, Bobby D. See you soon."

Bobby Dershowitz, Chicago drug taskforce detective, looked at his phone wondering if he had imagined the recent call. Nope. There it was her number on his phone. Mary Shannon. "What's going on in Mary's world?" he wondered aloud. No one in the Chicago PD bull pen seemed to notice.

At the Sunshine Building, Marshall had heard Mary's goodbye. She was taking time off to go to Chicago? That is not Mary Shannon he knew. His Mary didn't ask, she ordered. Bobby had asked if Mary was seeing anyone the first time they met. When Mary was shot, Bobby had probably saved her life. Maybe Mary was grateful and wanted to express her thanks? But why now?

Mary had recognized the detective's skills, but had been surprised when Bobby said he thought she was hot. Maybe now that he's no longer in the same town, she felt free to pursue him? That didn't make sense. Mary never pursued any man. She beckoned and they came, whoever, whenever and now, wherever.

What about Abigail's claim that she saw Mary kissing a woman? Marshall and Bobby had bonded when they worked together to find Mary's shooter. Maybe he'd call his black brother and see what Mary was up to. No. That wasn't professional. If she wanted him to know she'd tell him. He had promised himself not to get involved in Mary's personal life and dammit, he was keeping that promise.

Maybe she was trying to put their friendship, their working partnership into perspective – just as he was. He couldn't imagine working with any other partner, but he was tired of being sucked into her family dramas. Abigail was just what he needed. It was nice being with someone who didn't make fun of his hobbies, someone who was the girl in the relationship. Abigail smiled. Mary never smiled. Mary socked him on the arm so hard he had bruises. Love taps. Right.

No matter how he tried, Mary invaded his work, his life, his dreams. She hadn't punched him in the bicep in months. He missed the bruises. How sick was that? Maybe he needed to see Shelley. No, this is a personal matter. Maybe Shelley could recommend someone? Not sure that would fly either. Abigail was nice, and that was the problem. She was too nice. He knew she was bright, articulate and good at her job. But, she wasn't the flame that burned and made his blood run hot. No cold shower seemed to quench the fire that was Mary Shannon. He had to try harder.

TBC

A/N: The Nuclear Science Museum is in Albuquerque.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Chapter 4

Friday night, O'Hare International Airport

Mary spent Thursday doing laundry, going over the evidence and reviewing what she knew about ABQPD and Mayhem Mike Jefferson, now known as Mike Washington. Nothing clicked. Somewhere there was a missing piece that fit the holes in her understanding.

"Mary! Over here."

Dodging fellow passenger outside the jetway she thought about the Cayman Island account. At first glance Mike's banking and checking accounts raised no flags. But the account Marshall had uncovered had withdrawals of millions of dollars. Where was that money coming from? Where was it going? She distractedly followed the other passengers until the sound of her name finally penetrated.

"Mary!"

"Bobby!" she called out, shouldering aside a man in a suit with a bag too large to be legitimate carry on and an elderly woman clamped onto a reluctant teenage boy.

Dershowitz held out his arms in greeting. Mary tried not to wince when he hugged her. He should know she wasn't a hugger. She half halfheartedly put the arm not holding her bag around him. It was the least she could do since she had invited herself. Saving her life had to earn him a pass.

"Abusing your authority here too huh? What part of 'ticketed passengers only' don't you understand?" she snarked.

Releasing her from the hug, but holding onto her hand, Dershowitz looked her over. "Look at you. You look great. There was a time when I thought I would never see you upright." His warm smile told her he really was glad to see her. "You're fully recovered?"

The gunshot wound to the abdomen that almost ended her life had healed. Plastic surgery had smoothed the puckered scars. Once the stabbing pain had stopped, she seldom thought of it. It was kind of a mood spoiler when she got up close with a potential cowboy though.

Mary nodded and hitched her carry on and messenger bags further onto her shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Requalified again this year. Still hate the one and a half mile run, but I did it. Scored higher than Marshall on the last Tac Pistol Course." Mary took her hand from his and raised a fist in victory. Nothing Mary Shannon liked better that being top dog. Or in this case, top gun.

"Bet he beat you on the run," he using the truth to tease her. Mary's lips pressed together.

"With those six foot ladder legs I didn't have a chance. I scored 'excellent' for my class though." Dershowitz always was a sharp dresser, way too formal for cowboy boot, bolo tie Albuquerque. Mary checked him out. "Chicago suits you." She gave him an approving nod. "You look good, and so does your suit."

"Compliments, Mary? Who are you and what have you done with my favorite marshal? Does absence really make your heart grow fonder?"

"No," Mary pretended to glower. "Just been a while, y'know." Shaking her head she added, "Working with ABQPD isn't as easy since you've been gone."

"Meaning they won't kowtow to Queen Mary like I did?"

Looking him in the eye, she responded, "Nah, you never folded, but you understood. We were on the same side – the victims."

Bemused by Mary's considerate reply, Bobby hedged, "Hmm, I guess. Do we need the baggage claim?"

"Got everything right here." Mary patted her carry-on and messenger bag.

"Let me take your bag," he offered.

Mary's grip on her bag tightened and her eyes narrowed. "You and what army? I can handle it."

Backing off, Dershowitz relented. "Okay, okay, fine. I'm not going to wrestle with you here." Mary thought about that. Bobby was going to be disappointed. She wasn't here to wrestle with him anywhere. Too bad. He did look fine.

Taking her arm, he hustled her to the exit. "My car's at the curb. Let's get out of here before the airport cops ticket me."

"You badged them, right?"

"Yes, but airport security. . . ." he trailed off. Mary nodded, understanding. That damn Sunport cop had ticketed her Probe despite knowing she was on official business.

Once in the car and clear of the airport Bobby had to ask. "All right, Shannon, what really brings you to Chicago. And I know it isn't my fine ass or your appetite for deep dish."

Mary looked around the dark blue Crown Vic uncomfortably. "This police department issue?"

"Yeah, nice huh?" he chuckled. "Dark blue instead of black is CPD's take on inconspicuous."

"You clean it yourself?" she asked quietly, her voice lilting up at the end.

He glanced at her to see if she was asking if it had been swept for listening devices and location trackers. Returning his attention to the road he asked, "You're not kidding are you?"

"Nope." Staring out the window, her lips came together in a flat line.

Mary appreciated that Bobby was quick on the uptake. "I go out of my way to brave the hassle of O'Hare traffic," he harangued, "and you complain about crumbs in the seats. You haven't changed at all. Ungrateful, that's what you are. I .. uh... I haven't cleaned it for a couple of months."

Seeing her frown, he found an emergency pull-off and brushed Mary's knee as he reached over to the glove box. He withdrew a pen and notepad.

"Do I need to get it checked?" he wrote.

Without looking at him, she nodded her head. "Absolutely."

Putting the car in drive, and checking for traffic, Bobby asked, "Hey Mary, you want to see where I grew up?"

"Sure. I always wondered how you became the man you are," she smirked. She had spoken the last three words with a hollow spoofing tone. Bobby filled the rest of the trip with inconsequential chatter and questions about the city he had left behind.

Before long they were driving through a gentrified urban neighborhood. Big trees, old but restored row houses, relatively new cars parked on both sides of the narrow street. They pulled into the short driveway of a recently painted auto repair shop. The black letters on the big white sign proclaimed Joe's Expert Auto Service. The shop was dark, but the windows in the living area above it were lit.

Dershowitz dialed a number from memory on a burner phone pulled from the depths of his overcoat. Mary looked at the phone and signaled her approval with a thumbs up. Must be one of the perks of the drug task force assignment.

After exchanging a few words with whoever answered, the wooden garage doors squeaked as they rolled up, and Bobby drove in. As the door closed, he turned off the engine and got out. Mary watched as he exchanged back slaps with a large African American man wearing a grey t-shirt, denim coveralls and a backwards baseball cap. "Bobby, my man. To what do I owe this visit?"

The man looked alarmed when Dershowitz pulled the notepad from his jacket pocket and wrote "bugs?"

"Hey buddy. It's really good to see you." Bobby and the shop owner kept a running patter while he grabbed several tools, plunked himself down on a creeper and proceeded to roll under the Crown Vic. Dershowitz did his part to keep the conversation going. They talked about high school, which of the guys had bought a house, who had a new baby, Bobby's grandmother's health. Neither of them mentioned the blonde sitting in the passenger seat.

After poking and prodding the engine, the undercarriage and the interior, Bobby's friend had found a tracking device in a wheel well and two listening devices in the interior. They left them there. Wiping his hands on a red mechanics cloth, Joe announced he had finished recharging the air conditioning system and topped off the antifreeze. "C'mon up and see how the other half lives. Y'know, real people, not you fancy law enforcement types."

Once out of the garage and on the stairs up to where Joe lived, Mary thrust out her hand, "Mary Shepard. Nice to meet you. And thanks," she tilted her head toward the garage. Bobby wondered if she had always been this paranoid? Since she wasn't using her real last name, Bobbye regretfully reasoned she was looking for something other than reconnecting with a friend.

As they entered Joe's kitchen, Dershowitz introduced his friend. "Mary, this is Joe. This no good excuse for a mechanic is the reason I became a cop – so I could arrest his sorry ass the next time he stole my momma's car. Mary and I worked together on a few cases." Mary smiled, appreciating that Dershowitz hadn't specified where they had worked.

Joe punched his shoulder, smiling. "You know damn well I done never steal that car. Your momma let me borrow it." Mary had a thin but real smile as she watched the brief exchange of shoulder nudges and 'yeah sures.' Minutes later they were seated around Joe's kitchen table with bottles of beer. Drawing the shades, Joe turned out the overhead light, but left the light over the sink. Looking at Bobby he asked "What in the hell have you gotten yourself into B-man?"

"I'm not sure. This isn't my usual gig." Turning his head, he asked, "Mary?"

Mary looked around the place, silently asking if it could be bugged. Bobby responded with a head shake, no. Joe watched the two wondering what kind of spy vs. spy movies these two thought they were in. Mary looked at Joe. Bobby assured her, "Anything you say to me you can tell Joe. He's been keeping my secrets since I was 12."

Mary's eyes twinkled at that last statement. Bobby knew there was nothing Mary would like better than the details of his youthful indiscretions. Mary stared a bit longer at both men, seeing the trust between them. Before they thought she was crazier than a run over dog, she began.

Mary cleared her throat and looked into Bobby's eyes, "Why did you leave ABQPD?"

"Is this why you burned over a thousand frequent flyer miles?" Bobby exclaimed. "To find out why I left Albuquerque?"

She jerked her chin up. "Humor me."

"Technically, I'm still ABQPD. I'm on loan to a task force here. Drugs and homicide."

"Did anyone 'encourage' you to take this assignment?" Mary sat back watching Dershowitz.

Dershowitz straightened, and sat back, considering. "I wasn't exactly encouraged to leave, but the department didn't try to keep me either. When I told the Captain about the position he called it a 'once in a lifetime opportunity.' I believed him." He shrugged. "It seemed legit." Inhaling loudly his eyes got that remembering look. "You know? He didn't seem surprised. Said something about all the good work I had done getting me a 'reputation' beyond New Mexico."

"And you bought it?" Mary snarked.

"I wanted to believe," he countered, looking at her. "Wouldn't you?"

Mary shrugged. "Can you think of a reason the department would want to get rid of you?"

"You mean were they tired of their token black detective?"

"No. Not that." She looked away, knowing political correctness wasn't her strong suit. "I always figured you for a straight shooter."

"Thank you." The warmth in his voice let her know how much he valued her opinion.

"Maybe you didn't fit in with the rest of the boys in blue?" She had to find out if Bobby had suspected any wrong doing while he was on the force.

The light came on in Dershowitz' eyes. He squinted and asked, "Dirty cops?"

Smiling tightly, Mary touched forefinger to her nose. "Got it in one."

Dershowitz ran his fingers over his mouth, holding his chin. "You didn't come all this way without any proof. Whatcha got?"

"You'd make a good detective some day." Mary snarked as she dug into her messenger bag and pulled out the picture of Mayhem Mike and the ABQPD regional commander. "You know who this is?"

"That," he pointed to the man on the right "is the ABQPD's northwest regional commander."

He countered with a question of his own. "The guy holding the stuff is one of yours?"

Mary stared at Bobby but didn't respond. That was answer enough. "What do you think he's giving the commander?" she asked.

Dershowitz studied the photo. "Something flat. Papers? An envelope? Could be anything. Cash, stocks, a love note, an overdue notice from the library?"

Tired from a day of travel and airline food, Mary's growling stomach interrupted the discussion. She picked up the photo returning it to the relative safety of her bag.

Bobby looked at Joe. "Mary's never had real Chicago deep dish."

Joe showed no reaction to change of topic. "Sure, I got more brews. Want to order from Lou Malnati's?"

"Yeah. A large Chicago Classic should do it. Wait till you taste this Mary. It's out of this world."

Mary's growling stomach responded for her. She wished Marshall was here to experience the pizza.

TBC

A/N: Lou Malnati's is a Chicago pizzeria. Chicago Classic is listed on their menu.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Girls Will Be Girls – Chap 5

Sunday night

On the flight back to Albuquerque, Mary found her thoughts drifting to Marshall, wondering what he was doing this weekend. She was glad he had found a nice girl to date. Wasn't she? Examining her feelings about Abigail she realized she didn't like her. There was no reason. Abigail had never done anything to her. Except sop up all Marshall's free time.

Turning her attention from her partner she went over what Bobby said, after he recovered from finding the bugs and tracker on his car. He recalled the same type of discrepancies with work records that Roxanne had documented. Like her, he had noticed early on, but figured it was just sloppy timekeeping and was too caught up in solving cases to pay much attention. He remembered a detective with a luxury car way above his pay grade. Once he saw a uniform with a chronograph exceeded the uniform's annual salary. He figured both were gifts. Then there was the coroner. His suits had a cut and fit far beyond what even Bobby's wealthiest tailor cousin could afford.

She didn't need to swear Bobby to secrecy. He understood how dangerous it was to have this sort of proof. Chicago PD wasn't a friendly shop, but he had access to records and reports as well as a few clandestine sources. He promised to discretely question them regarding Mayhem Mike. Mary objected. She didn't want to put Bobby or Joe in jeopardy. Bobby convinced her he knew what he was doing and she reluctantly agreed.

Where did Abigail fit in? Was she using Marshall to find out what the marshals service knew? Should she tell Marshall and Stan? Even if she had evidence would they say this wasn't their job and send it elsewhere? If that happened all the evidence would be buried, and her along with it. _Damned if you do, damned if you don't Shannon_. For now, Roxanne was the only one she trusted.

No, wait, that wasn't true. She trusted Marshall, and she had to admit, she trusted Stan. She didn't trust herself. They knew she thought Mike Washington was scum and guilty as hell. There wasn't enough proof to convince them. She had to show them it wasn't her dislike (ok, hatred) of Mike Washington, it was the fact that he was guilty, and would never testify. As soon as she had that conclusive piece, she'd tell them. She could use their help.

The evidence of dirty cops went back to Bobby's time, but Roxanne had only begun to notice odd things after Abigail Chaffee joined the force. Coincidence? Was she some sort of catalyst? Why would they get sloppy now? Maybe they were setting Abigail up to take the fall? She wasn't one of the good old boys. Maybe she had seen something she shouldn't? Was she involved? Mary hoped not, for Marshall's sake.

Abigail. How could the detective be so bubbly after working with the dregs of Albuquerque all day? Why was she in law enforcement anyway? Did Marshall know? Abigail with her perfect manicure, stylish trench coat and perfectly coifed hair. Blech.

The plane landed long before Mary was able to put together what Bobby and Roxanne suspected into a convincing narrative to share. She'd stay with the WITSEC angle for now. Marshall already knew about her suspicions regarding Mayhem Mike. Telling Stan would come next. Nailing Mayhem Mike would be satisfying, but if the corruption was widespread, catching him would be dangerous, deadly even.

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Monday

As soon as she swiped her access card and entered the WITSEC office, Stan, coffee cup in hand, was a human road block between her and her desk.

"Mary," he greeted. "What are you doing here? You're still on vacation."

"Vacation's are overrated," she barked. "Right Marshall?"

Marshall didn't respond, but a pained look crossed his face. She knew he was remembering her vacation with FBI Agent Mike Faber. She saw him give her an appraising look. If he knew she had gone to Chicago, it would be best if he thought it was a long distance booty call. Mary smiled lazily swinging her hips as she maneuvered around Stan and sauntered to her desk.

Mary's smile jolted Marshall. Mary never smiled. Maybe she had gotten some action in Chicago. Scratched that itch. Bobby D was a stand up guy. Mary could do worse. Hell, Mary had done worse. The thought made Marshall grumpy. He grunted a greeting.

As she got to her desk, her phone started to buzz even before she put her bag down. "This is Mary." She paused to listen. "Martha, Martha. Take a breath," she paused. "What's happening?" She had repeated the woman's name for Stan and Marshall's benefit.

"Of course I can come and talk to Roman." Mary picked up her bag and headed for the gate, doing a sudden u turn and beckoning to Marshall. "Yes, Marshall will be there. We'll both be there as soon as we can. Just hold on. Don't do anything rash. Right. Can I talk to Roman."

"Roman, what is this about?" Mary asked tersely. "Oh. Sure. Just calm your mother. Get her a drink of water, or maybe something stronger. I'm getting in the car now."

Marshall followed her to the parking lot. He climbed in the passenger seat and buckled up. "You want to give me the 411?"

"I told you Martha was worried about Roman?" _And what part of cosmic karma thought it was a good idea to make my lie the truth?_

"Martha thinks he's gay."

Marshall snorted. Considering where Mary had been hanging out recently, this would be interesting. Maybe he could get her to talk about her own sexual orientation. "What makes her think that?"

"She found out he joined the Gay/Straight Alliance at school." Mary hadn't even known there was such an organization. "What is it with people? Every single stray dog, underdog, lapdog gets their own support group? Where were they when I was Miss Unpopular? Why didn't I get a support group?"

"Because you would have beat the shit out of them for suggesting you couldn't take care of yourself?" Marshall offered.

"Oh. Right," Mary nodded in agreement but keept her eyes on the road. Hmmm. If Marshall had been around when she was in high school she would have had someone on her side. And someone to tease too. A win win for her.

A few minutes later Mary jerked the car into park. Arriving at the Cassaveti's apartment door they hear loud voices. "Mrs. Cassaveti," Mary bellowed. "Martha. It's Mary and Marshall. Please, open up." Martha slowly opened the door. Her eyes looked tired and her hands shook. She worked two jobs so that Roman could concentrate on school.

Marshall and Mary gave Roman and his mother the once over. No bruises. "You okay?" Marshall asked. Roman nodded. All four stood, waiting for someone to begin. Marshall watched Mary. These were her witnesses and she would maim him if he took the lead. He was astounded at Mary's ability to untangle her witness's emotional messes. If only she could take care of her own. Lord knows he had failed to get her to listen to him.

Now that she had company, Martha calmed. She offered Mary and Marshall cold drinks, but they demurred. Martha led them to the living room where they could all sit comfortably. Mary could see Martha gathering her nerve and asked, "What is this all about."

"It's about my son." "Sitting beside him, Martha turned to look at him. "Roman," Martha's voice was low, intense, "Are you .. are you gay?"

Roman's head jerked up. He looked as if his mother had grown horns. "No," he protested loudly. "Ma, why would you ask that?"

Martha couldn't look at him as she listed the evidence. "You don't have a girlfriend and I've seen you at school with those sissy boys. Oh if only your father was alive. Boys need a strong male role model. I should have . . . ."

"Mom," he started, taking her hand. "Mom, I don't need a man to be a role model," he insisted. "You're as strong as any man I know. You moved us across country; you work two jobs so I don't have to; you made sure we're safe. You know," he emphasized, "if Dad was alive, we'd be in more danger from his 'friends' than I am from any sissy boys at school."

Seeing he had her full attention, "Didn't you teach me to treat everyone with respect? That's what I'm doing. These guys and girls get teased and bullied at school. That's not right. A bunch of us decided it was time to do something. To let everyone know that they are people too and deserve to be treated with respect."

Mary could see that Marshall was impressed with Roman's willingness to take a stand. "Mrs. Cassaveti," she began. "Martha. Roman is a good kid. Some day he'll give you grandkids. But that time isn't now. You know your son. Do you really think Roman prefers boys? Doesn't he have the latest swimsuit edition under his mattress?"

Roman, who had been staring at the floor, suddenly glared at Mary. Martha blinked.

"I know you Martha. You're a good woman, a good mother. You work hard. You love him. You know him." Martha nodded. "Have you met any of these sissy boys?" Martha nodded no. "Maybe you should get to know them. Find out what they are really like instead of judging them from what someone told you."

Roman jumped at the suggestion. "You should meet Rori, Mom. He's on the honor roll. He's been helping me with chemistry. Nate is a musician, and he's not gay. He just thinks guys like Rori have gotten a raw deal. He doesn't think it's right. We could invite . . ."

Seeing the panic in Martha's face, Marshall interrupted, "Whoa. One step at a time."

"It's good to have friends, to develop relationships," Mary advised. "Safety first. Never reveal your old names or where you used to live. No references to old friends, old schools, old anything. Don't exchange the brief satisfaction of sharing you secret for being dead forever. It's not worth it."

"You understand that, right?" Marshall said to emphasize the point.

Roman reluctantly replied, "Yes, I understand. I haven't said anything to the kids at school. And I won't Ma. I wouldn't do anything that put you in danger." Roman took his mother's hand.

Martha, who had been fidgeting uncomfortably gave a sigh of relief. "Yes, I suppose I should see for myself. Maybe we can meet them somewhere. Some place we can all feel comfortable." She took Roman's face in her hands. "Grandbabies, remember, grandbabies. Promise me."

"I promise Mom. Give me a few years to find a girl I can love as much as I love you." Martha's eyes filled with tears. She hugged her son.

Marshall was touched by Roman's tender response, but was surprised that Mary didn't roll her eyes at the sentimental scene. She rose from her seat. "I'm sure you two will figure it out," she assured them.

On the way back to the Sunshine Building Marshall took the opportunity to get Mary's opinions on same sex relationships. "That was different."

"Not really," she countered. "Mother upset that her Jewish son is friends with a Catholic, that her white daughter is friends with a black guy. This is their generation's version." She shrugged.

"So, do you think he's gay?" Marshall didn't think Roman was, but he wanted Mary to talk about gay relationships.

"Nyah. He just hasn't met the right girl yet – one who can measure up to his ma." Mary summed up.

"That's a little simplistic, don't you think?" He wanted to dig deeper, to relate this incident to her life, her choices.

"I know my witness. Roman is a straight arrow. He even bought into all that celibacy crap. He's 'saving himself' for marriage."

"He told you that?" Marshall was flabbergasted that the teenager would share something so personal, so intimate with Mary. She continuously made fun of his sex life, or lack thereof. How could she have the sensitivity to handle the sex talk with this young man? There was a time he could have accurately predicted what Mary would say. After this past year, these past two months, he wasn't sure. Did he know her at all?

"Yeah, we talked. He told me. Poor sap, he can't win. If he sleeps around he's a sinner and if he doesn't he's gay or worse a 'self abuser' which is also a sin in his mind. It's tough being a teen."

"Did you tell him that it doesn't matter if he's gay or straight as long as he's true to himself?"

Mary reared back and stared at Marshall. "No. Why would I do that? That boy isn't 'confused' about his sexual orientation. You watch, he'll lose his virginity freshman year. I'll bet money on it. I know my witness."

"How do you feel about sexual orientation?"

"Why don't you just say gays, Miss Priss?" Aiming to ruffle Marshall's feathers, she added "As long as they orient on me, I'm fine."

She paused. "That didn't come out right. Look, Marshall, it's a personal choice. What people do with their lives is their business. Even our witnesses. As long as it doesn't endanger them, as long as there's no security breach, it doesn't matter."

Marshall's mouth pursed in an unbelieving moue. "You couldn't even watch Helen Traylen kiss Lee Ahn a few years ago, and now you're telling me you are Miss Acceptance? Doesn't sound like you Mare." He shook his head, incredulous.

Brushing her hair back, "Well I didn't say they should do it in front of me. But otherwise, it's no skin off my nose. Or my pussy." She snuck a quick glance to see if Marshall's ears were red. They were. She loved teasing her partner, but shit, that was one of the things she had promised not to do. "Sorry Marshall."

On the way into the office, Marshall asked, "So does this mean you'll stop teasing me about origami?"

"Hell no." she yelled, yanking open the security gate. "You're a United States Marshal!"

TBC

A/N: Reviews welcome! Please.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Many thanks to my loyal reviewer Jojo78.

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Chapter 6

Tuesday

Marshall was relieved to be in the office for the first time in weeks. Both he and his partner were scheduled to spend the day there. He needed to talk to her. He was sure Mary had a good reason for being at the Pagoda. He just couldn't figure out what it was. The conundrum was killing him.

Girding himself for the confrontation, Marshall approached her desk with 16 oz. of Hawaiian Kona for his partner. Before he could set it down her cell phone rang. She looked at the phone and then Marshall. Dismissing him and his gift, Mary got up and strode to the balcony. Marshall sniffed irritated by the brush off. Another personal call on her government issued phone?

He followed her to the balcony and caught the door before it could close completely. She kept her back to the office as she talked. "Hey Bobby D. Watcha got for me?"

If she had looked, Mary would have seen Marshall's mouth forming a thin line of disapproval.

"Really? Really!" She seemed excited, animated, for the first time in weeks. But her lips moved into a thin grim grin. The kind of smile Marshall saw in his nightmares as she laughed and rejected him.

"How big is it?" Mary asked.

_What? Marshall snorted into his mug. Were they discussing the size of Bobby's . . . ah.. package...er...shaft? _

"You know where it goes," Mary insisted.

He could hear her smirk when she said, "Of course I can handle one that big."

A slug of hot coffee headed for the wrong pipe. Marshall moved away from the door as he tried to choke quietly.

"Just make sure it's encrypted." Mary instructed.

Marshall only heard the word encrypted but he was able to breathe again. Bobby was sending her a large encrypted **file**. Maybe this call was work related.

As she hung up and turned to enter the office Mary ran into Marshall standing by the door.

As her partner, he needed to know what was going on. "So," he drawled. "Bobby D is sending you an encrypted file?"

"Uh, yeah," she acknowledged. "Don't get your panties in a bunch. It's not origami porn." She didn't want him in on this just yet. If his girlfriend was involved, it would affect the validity of the evidence if he was part of the investigation. More important to Mary was the fact that Marshall's reputation could be dragged through the dirt. His record was squeaky clean. His family legacy intact. Mary would do anything to keep it that way.

"Inquiring minds want to know, Mare. I am your partner," he reminded her.

Pushing past him, she promised, "You will." She went directly to her desk and looked at him grimly, "You will."

Marshall returned to his desk wondering what Bobby D was sending that affected the Albuquerque marshal's office.

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Wednesday afternoon

For the second time in as many weeks Stan heard a polite knock on his door. And for the second time it was Mary.

"What can I do for you Inspector?" Stan couldn't really put his finger on the reason for the changes he saw in Mary. Maybe she was mellowing. She rarely teased Marshall. She hadn't punched her partner in months. That's it! They don't touch. The last few months Mary had been strictly hands off. He couldn't believe Mary was giving her partner the respect he deserved. That just wasn't Mary. The wheels in the experienced mind of Chief Inspector Stan McQueen began to churn, trying to explain her change in attitude.

Mary and Marshall made a great team. If something had happened to upset their working relationship, their performance could go down the tubes. There had always been a personal component to their partnership. Not that he'd seen proof of that recently. Stan made a mental note to check their recent work.

Mary closed the door to the office and sat down. Silent. Elbows on knees she seemed to be taking time to figure out exactly what she wanted to say. "Inspector?"

Mary cleared her throat. Her hands were clasped together as if in prayer. She hadn't spoken to anyone since this morning and her throat felt full of cotton. Looking up at Stan she told him. "It's Mayhem Mike, Chief."

"Mike Washington, the witness for the prosecution in the McDonnell case?" Stan prompted.

"Yeah," she confirmed.

"What about Mr. Washington?" Stan knew Mary disliked the witness. Why mince words, she hated the SOB. He wouldn't be surprised if she was looking for dirt on him to get him bounced out of WITSEC.

"Marshall found an off shore account that appears to be his. Millions of dollars go through that account. It's not clear where the money comes from, and we can't trace it back here. He's up to something, but I can't figure out what."

Stan nodded. That sounded like a legitimate witness related concern. "And what can I help you with?"

"Can you get the accountant types to find out where the money is coming from?"

"And going to?" Stan asked.

"Well, yeah." In or out it didn't really matter to Mary. "It might be more important to know where it's coming from. If it's coming from the same people who paid off McDonnell, it would be enough to queer his testimony."

Stan trusted Mary's instincts as much as he trusted Marshall's threat assessments. His own instincts told him Mary knew more than she was telling him. He had no idea what cages this could rattle. It could backfire and have them all looking for new jobs. If they lived to tell the tale.

"Has Marshall been working with you on this?" Stan hoped he had. They were partners. They were supposed to work together.

Mary clasped and unclasped her hands. "Uh, no. Not since he found the off shore account. He's got his own witnesses and I, uh, I didn't want to bother him."

_Bother him? Since when was involving her partner a bother. Shit. He might need to talk to Shelley Finkle about these two. Forget trying to get Mary to talk to Finkle. He would start checking both their reports as soon as Mary left his office._

"I think I can speak for Marshall when I say this will not be a bother." Stan declared solemnly. "It's a bona fide concern about one of our witnesses. Marshall has expertise to focus on the problem. Let him do it. If we need to bring in the forensic accountants, we will. Let Marshall take a shot at it first."

"Uh, yeah. Sure," she replied hesitantly.

"Get Marshall in here and let's go over what you have so far." Mary looked up, wide eyed and tense. Stan had never seen her hesitate. Usually she was charging in, leaving him and Marshall in the dust. This time was different. She was different. Even Marshall had been behaving differently. Stan didn't like it.

Mary hadn't thought that far ahead. She had the offshore account details ready, but that was it. She wasn't prepared to meet with Marshall. How was she going to keep the Mike Washington stuff separate from the ABQPD stuff? Abigail seemed to be involved. She and Roxanne had to strain through the files before she could share them with Marshall.

"Umm, I need some time to get the stuff together, Chief. Barring witness calls, it will take me most of a day."

"Whatever you need Inspector. Just don't wait too long. If this is as serious as it appears, we need to be on top of the situation fast. The DoJ hates surprises." Stan wondered if Mary had an ulterior motive in starting this investigation. Mike Washington had paid too much of the wrong kind of attention to his Inspector. She didn't like it, and neither did he.

TBC

A/N: Thanks to all who have reviewed. C'mon. Just do it. You know you want to.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Chapter 7

Still Wednesday

The afternoon sun reflected off the glass door as Marshall carded himself into the quiet WITSEC office. His obstreperous sometimes obnoxious and often profane partner wasn't at her desk. Marshall spied her in Stan's office. Something was off. Mary was facing Stan, her back to the glass. She wasn't standing and shouting, as she usually did. She wasn't angry and neither was Stan. Stan was paying full attention.

Although Stan was frequently pleased with the outcome of some of Mary's escapades, he usually wasn't happy while they were happening, and preferred not to know the details. Mary must have pulled off something. Something she had managed without him. Without her partner. She should have told him. Stan counted on him keeping her in line. He was supposed to keep Stan in the loop, not the other way around.

Marshall's concern turned to irritation. What did she do? When did she stop talking to him? Actually, he reflected, she seldom 'talked' to him. She complained, whined and gave orders. She was his partner and yet for the past two weeks, hell, the past two months if he was honest, he had no idea what she had been doing, or which witnesses she visited. He couldn't remember the last time she mentioned Jinx or Brandi.

Glancing back to Stan's office, Marshall saw Mary stand and quietly close the door behind her. Stan returned his attention to his cluttered desk, looking anxious but not angry. The hairs on the back of Marshall's neck stood straight up. Mary closed doors with a slam. Mary was a whirlwind, debris hitting innocent bystanders. She seldom acknowledged the havoc she caused. Yet here she was quietly closing the door and walking slowly to her desk.

"Hey," Marshall greeted her. He always approached Mary cautiously. He kept out of range of her pointy elbows, preferring to keep some furniture between them. That buffer zone had saved him from many a bruise. Too aggravated to be courteous he demanded, "Where were you? I brought coffee this morning."

Already seated Mary concentrated on her computer screen. "Coffee?" she muttered to the screen. Then clearing her throat, "Sorry. I went on witness visits right from home." She glanced his way, never looking him in the eye and shrugged, "You know, the usual."

Mary's calm considered response caused Marshall additional concern. He expected a 'mind your own business, what's it to you numnutz.' not this.

Mary was calm. Mary was polite. Mary said she was sorry. Polite. _Oh my God_. Something traumatic had happened.

Mary continued to ignore him, concentrating on her phone. Nearly knocking over his chair, Marshall strode the few feet to Stan's office. The Chief looked up startled when the door slammed

"Marshall, what the hell?" Stan had never seen his courteous Inspector so volatile.

"Something bad happened to Mary." He stated baldly, breathing out heavily, leaning on Stan's desk.

Stan looked at Mary working quietly at her desk. He ran his thumb over the edges of her recent witness visit reports. Reports he had just reviewed. Marshall didn't go off half cocked. He must have a reason. "Sit," he ordered. "What makes you think so?"

"Just look at the evidence," Marshall insisted. "Has she been yelling? Has she teased me about my love life? My hobbies? Has she pissed off ABQPD?"

Stan leaned back, steepled his hands and pursed his lips. "No." he replied. "Mary hasn't pissed off any law enforcement agencies, local, state or federal." Where was Marshall was going with this? Why would Marshall think something bad had happened? Stan realized that the office had been quiet the last few weeks. No spitball fights, no teasing. No bets. No singing the song. Mary had teased Marshall their entire partnership - when she wasn't defending him. Marshall may never have witnessed her defense, but surely he must know.

Stan looked at his worried Inspector. "Mary has been on her best behavior, as far as I can tell. As a matter of fact she just completed her recertification, early." He pushed a slip of paper with Mary's shooting scores toward Marshall.

"Early?" Marshall queried, and then looked at the slip of paper. "I had to nag her for a month last time." Marshall looked at the paper. "Are these her latest scores?" As her partner, he was entitled to know that Mary passed all the phases of certification, but he'd never seen her actual shooting scores. Stan sat back and looked on with a proud smile it was as if his own child had successfully pulled off a particularly tricky event.

After checking the numbers he looked at Stan. "I know Mary is a good shot, but these are better than her last cert."

Pointing to the top of the scoring sheet Stan noted "That's not her dominant hand."

Exhaling loudly, Marshall whistled. "Her scores are almost as good as mine."

"You two make quite a team. Check the shotgun scores," Stan suggested. "She scored higher than you. So tell me again. Why do you think something bad happened to Mary?"

Marshall wondered if his 'gut' feeling measured up to the factual evidence the Chief had just given him. But this was Mary.

"Stan, when was the last time Mary was civil to me, to you, to local law enforcement?"

Stan rubbed his forehead, moving his hand to his bald head, a distant look in his eyes. Suddenly, a spark gleamed. "After she was kidnapped and pistol whipped by Spanky."

"Exactly," Marshall acknowledged, nodding sagely.

Stan stood and paced. "What do you think happened? You work with her every day."

"That's just it. The last few weeks she's gone on witness visits while I'm tied up in the office. She's never available for a drink after work. I haven't seen her at Two Fools in over a month. You know she doesn't keep liquor in the house because of Jinx."

"Maybe she's found a new watering hole," Stan suggested reasonably.

"Maybe," Marshall acknowledged, thinking of the Pagoda. "But why is she being polite? She's doing all her own intake forms and she hasn't asked me to help with a witness visit report in a long time."

"Really? Because they're right here." Stan handed Marshall a stack of neatly typed multipage detailed reports on the status of four of Mary's most troublesome witnesses. "These look just like all the other ones. No typos. No grammar errors. Brief but detailed and just the facts."

Marshall was curious to see how Mary managed the paperwork without him. Taking the top set of sheets, Marshall read the name of the witness and exploded. "You let her go see Mayhem Mike**,** alone?"

"It's Mary. I didn't **let** her do anything. I didn't know she had gone till I saw that report." Stan confessed, looking contrite.

Marshall's distress made Stan realize how serious this could be. He continued rubbing his scalp. "This is bad, isn't it?"

"Yes," Marshall agreed emphatically. "Can you get Shelley to talk to her? If Mary is being polite she might not even yell at Shelley."

"I'll call Dr. Finkel," Stan agreed. "See how soon she can see Mary."

Marshall ran a hand though his hair. Leaving Stan's office he saw his partner still working at her desk. He approached slowly. Standing in front of her desk, Marshall cleared his throat. "Hey Mare." He waited for her to acknowledge him. When she looked up he asked, "How about lunch? I'm buying." Mary never turned down free food. He'd bet money that she never stepped foot in a grocery store unless she was buying staples for a new witness.

"Uh," she looked up, smiling. "Thanks." She looked down at her desk and continued. "Marshall, you always buy. It should be my turn. I'll buy next time. Okay?" She raised her eyes to his. "Just not today. I, umm..I ate before coming to the office."

Before he could return to his desk, she bent to her bottom desk drawer. "Wait." Mary removed a plastic bag. "These are yours. They're from Marie. I told her I'd make sure you got them."

If Mary's warm smile wasn't alarming enough, the fact that she was willing to share baked goods only made the alarm louder. Marshall examined the quart sized baggie filled with chocolaty goodness. Marie's brownies were to die for. Maybe that was Mary's plan - to do him in with poisoned baked goods.

Opening the bag, Marshall released their tempting calorie laden aroma and asked hesitantly, "Did you try them?"

"Yeah," she sighed, nodding. "I had one at Marie's and made sure she knew how much I enjoyed it."

Remembering her orgasmic relationship with chocolate of any kind brought a vivid image of Mary, head back, moaning over the last batch of Marie's brownies. Marshall hadn't gotten a crumb of those, but watching Mary had been better than any x-rated movie. He hadn't missed the brownies.

Marshall swallowed nervously. Who was this woman and what had she done with his partner? Maybe Mary was suffering flashbacks. That was the only reason she would share Marie's brownies. The only reason she would be polite. Something awful had happened. Drastic measures were required.

"Since you already had lunch, come to my place for dinner. I'll make my BBQ ribs and I've got a bottle of whiskey that you could help me with."

Hands flat on her desk, Mary looked at him, narrowing her eyes. "Don't you have a date with the detective or dance class or something?"

Mary hadn't teased him about Abigail in weeks. Marshall realized she was giving him time and space to work on his relationship with Abigail. It was what friends did. It didn't sit well with Marshall. This wasn't Mary. This wasn't **his** Mary.

"Not tonight. Dance class is Friday."He grimaced as he related, "Abigail has a spa date."

Mary looked away, raised her arm and flipped her hand at him. "No Marshall, you don't need to. . ." Putting her hand to her forehead, she paused. "Wait, am I the guinea pig for something you want to cook for her?"

"Maybe." This was really bad. Mary hesitating when there's free food? "You coming?" If this is what it took to get her to his place, so be it. He needed time and a Mary full of ribs and whiskey to find out what was bothering her.

Mary pursed her lips, considering. "My fridge is empty. Might as well." She raised her head, narrowed her eyes and said "Just to help you out."

TBC

A/N: Reviews make me do a happy dance.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

A/N: Meg, HeavenSkye thanks for the encouraging reviews. Thanks too to my faithful reviewer Jojo78. Hope everyone enjoys reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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Chapter 8

Wednesday night

Sitting in Marshall's kitchen, Mary licked her fingers after a second serving of ribs. "If I knew you could make ribs like this I would have chained you to the grill years ago."

Marshall didn't actually hear what she said. His eyes were glued to the lewd acts conjured up by Mary's tongue sucking her sauce laden fingers. With effort, he swallowed and looked away. _Good thing I'm wearing an apron._

Noticing her chatterbox partner wasn't eating or talking, Mary wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Have I got sauce somewhere? What are you looking at?" She bit her tongue before adding numnutz to that question. She could see Marshall was distracted. Deciding it was none of her business anymore, she looked longingly at the empty serving plate, sighed and lifted her tumbler of whiskey.

Mary's comments about his cooking finally registered. Marshall wrenched his attention from her fingers to focus on a series of bruises revealed when the sleeve of her shirt slipped down to the elbow as she raised her glass.

"Mare?" He pointed to the black and blue spots climbing her forearm. "How did you get those?"

Embarrassed, Mary shoved the sleeve down and ducked her head. She mumbled something Marshall couldn't understand. Before she could cover them completely, he squatted by her side. Gently, he took her hand and insisted, "What happened?"

When she shook her head and covered her face with her other hand, he continued. "You're my partner," he stressed. "I should have been there" he paused "to protect you, to make sure that didn't happen."

Mary looked at him, crossly. "Protect me from what? Protect me from the pans falling out of my cupboard?" She looked past him. Her tone held the usual sarcastic sting.

Marshall wasn't fooled. He raised her sleeve to reveal more bruises on the other arm. "Mare, these didn't come from cookware. I can see fingerprints. Who did this? Who grabbed you?"

She shuddered and pulled her arm out of his grasp.

"Nothing. It's nothing," she insisted, refusing to look at him.

"It **is** something. Someone got close enough to my partner to hurt her." Before she could respond he had both sleeves raised, exposing matching sets of bruises.

"Who was he? Who did this?" Marshall's voice was low and demanding. His tone was so unlike Marshall. So unlike the calm warm voice of her partner, her friend. It reminded her of the recent encounter with Mike which triggered memories of her kidnapping and Spanky. Seeing her zone out, Marshall eased his hold and sat back on his heels. She wasn't seeing him, the kitchen or anything in the room. She whimpered. _That's it. Proof._ _Something is wrong with Mary_. After a sudden inhale, and a shake of her head, the fiery spark of Mary, his Mary, returned. She pulled her hands from his grasp. Staring into his eyes, she leaned forward and repeated "It's nothing," emphasizing each syllable. Marshall shook his head.

After staring at each other for a while, Mary realized Marshall wasn't giving in, and resigned herself to telling the tale. Abridged, of course. Heavily edited and with no names.

Rolling her eyes, she spoke quickly. "I got a distress call from a witness. Emergency," she said with disdain. "He was having trouble with the washer and asked me to show him how to use it. We went to the laundry room. He grabbed me. I broke his nose and decked him." She looked Marshall squarely in the eyes. "I could barely hear his apology." She glared, daring him to question her further, cocking her head to one side. "Guess he had trouble talking with my boot on his neck." She smirked, and his heart soared. _She was back_.

She tossed her napkin on the table. "Thanks for dinner. I gotta fly." If she stayed she'd end up spilling the whole story about Mayhem Mike, police corruption and Roxanne. She couldn't do that. Not yet. Besides she had a date with Roxanne. They needed time to figure out what evidence could safely be given to Marshall. He didn't need to know about ABQPD. Yet.

After the front door closed behind his partner, Marshall sat and considered what he had just witnessed. Mary acted more like herself, but she was still way too thoughtful and considerate. Preoccupied and polite. That summed it up. Mary had something besides bruises up her sleeve. He grabbed a towel to start returning his kitchen to its pristine condition. _Hope Shelley has an opening soon_.

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After leaving Marshall's, Mary checked her phone and found where Roxanne wanted to meet. It was the apartment of Roxanne's friend who was conveniently on vacation. It was late by the time she got the files and photos from the Sunshine Building. She hated to move them from the safety of her desk's lock box. In the wrong hands, they would be her death sentence.

The address took her to a small recently painted apartment complex on the outskirts of town. Despite the moderate night temperatures, Mary shivered as she grabbed her messenger bag. The building bore an unfortunate resemblance to Mayhem Mike's. From the window Roxanne spotted Mary and opened the door to a first floor apartment. Once inside, she led Mary to a back bedroom with drapes drawn. A task lamp focused on the double bed where documents were arranged in two piles: okay to share, and ABQPD stuff.

One by one, Mary and Roxanne reviewed each document. Mary picked up a photo of Mike Washington with a group of men. The man next to Mike was facing away from the camera but Mary recognized the dark hair neatly pulled into a fat low pony tail. That had to be Edwin Talltrees. Pointing to the photo, Mary asked. "I don't remember this one. You know that guy?"

Roxanne nodded no. "The hair looks sort of familiar, but I can't tell without seeing his face. It's from a box of stuff that came from Thomas' desk. I found it when I went to storage for a desk chair."

"Yeah." Mary replied quietly. "He looks familiar to me too, but without a face. . . .."

By the time they finished, there was a small pile of documents and photos to show Marshall and Stan. Mary left the photo that she thought included Edwin Talltrees in the stack to be shared.

"I wish we had a safer place to store these." Mary grumbled.

"The Marshal's office isn't secure?" Roxanne wondered. Mary had never told Roxanne that her office was in the Sunshine building. Most of the Marshals in Albuquerque were at the court house.

"Not with my nosy partner. He's pretty good with a lock pick. And I know he's worried about me. Thinks I've been acting strange."

"Have you?" Roxanne looked concerned.

"What?"

"Been acting strange?" Roxanne reiterated.

Mary straightened and sighed. How much to tell her? They were, after all, comrades in arms for the duration. After a brief wait, Mary told her the truth. Sort of. "He's got a girlfriend. Our partnership just involves work now. We used to go out for drinks." Turning to the other woman Mary confided, "You know. Just partners spending time together."

Roxanne looked at their evening's accomplishments. Thoughts of her dead partner brought many regrets. "Yeah. Ramirez and I would grab a quick beer after work. But he had a family, other obligations. I" she hesitated, "I didn't want to take too much of his personal time."

"Exactly. That's where I'm at. When Marshall and I were both fancy free, I would do anything to avoid going home to my **family**, even spend time with him," she joked.

"Family?" Roxanne grabbed the tiny bit of personal information. She had met with Mary several times but still knew very little about the blonde marshal.

Mary knew she was walking a fine line. As a WITSEC Inspector she'd already said more than she should. "Umm, I've got a couple of relatives who stay with me from time to time. They're family but we aren't very " Mary searched for a word that summed up her relationship with Jinx and Brandi. "Compatible." _Yeah, that's a good way to put it. _

Roxanne nodded, rolling her head to release the tension in her neck. "Can't choose family."

Mary thought of her work family. Marshall, Stan, even Eleanor had earned a place. Head down, she admitted, "I never thought I'd say this but I wish our old . . . " Couldn't say office manager "..assistant was still around. She was a sneaky bitch. I know she could cut through red tape when we needed it." Mary stopped to knead her own neck muscles. Hovering over the bed hadn't been the most comfortable way to spend the evening.

"Now that we've divvied them up, I'll take the whole mess back to the office. This set" she hefted the larger pile shoving it into her messenger bag, "will go in my lock box in my desk. My partner thinks I keep chocolate truffles in there," she muttered. "These" she held up a small handful of pages and a few photos, "are the ones I will show them." She fanned the slim pile so Roxanne could check them again. "I just hope it will be enough to convince them to look into it without fucking things up."

Giddy with exhaustion, Roxanne said, "Don't get them mixed up!" Smiling grimly, Mary promised to double and triple check.

TBC

A/N: Reviews welcome. Please?


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Chapter 9

Thursday afternoon

Much to her disgust, Marshall had stuck like a bur since seeing the bruises on her arms. She wanted to scrutinize the ABQPD evidence but didn't dare with Marshall in the office. While waiting for her partner to leave, she decided to call Mike Washington's boss to see how the new job was going. She knew Marshall had been keeping an eye on her. He would expect her to check on Mayhem Mike.

After a brief conversation Mary slammed the phone down. "This is crap." Dropping witness files on her desk, she grabbed her bag, badge and gun and headed for the door.

Marshall was already grabbing his badge and gun. "Mare? Where you going?" He wasn't letting her out of his sight. She had done too much lone wolf work lately. This time, willing or not, she was taking her partner.

"Witness visit," she yelled over her shoulder.

Still shutting down his computer, Marshall yelled. "Not good enough." Seconds later he caught up to her and demanded, "Who?"

Waiting for the elevator, Mary spit out, "That SOB Mike Washington hasn't been at work for the last week. Manager says he quit. Got a new job."

"You are not going to his place alone. Not this time, Sunshine," he muttered, holding the elevator door for her. Mary shrugged. "Suit yourself." _Backup was good_.

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When no one answered the door at Mike Washington's apartment, they retreated to the SUV. Marshall tried to get Mary to talk about her last visit to Mike. When she wouldn't budge on that topic he asked about Jinx, Brandi and even if she had a new cowboy. Every attempt elicited a one word reply or grunt. Exasperated, Mary finally challenged, "Do I ask you for details of your dates, your mumbo class, your last visit to one of those god forsaken museums?" He saw a flicker of something in her face before she said, "Just drop it. Drop it." She crossed her arms and settled back into the seat, watching for their witness. A few minutes later a shiny sedan pulled into the parking spot across from Mike's apartment.

"That's him," Mary announced. "C'mon."

She was already out of the car and half way to the closing apartment door. Mike Washington had seen the black SUV in the parking lot, but slammed the door anyway. Nerves stretched thin, Mary raised her fist to pound on the door then remembered she wasn't doing that anymore. By the time Marshall was at the door she was rapping on the door like a normal person.

Cigarette in hand, Mike slowly opened the door a sliver, blowing smoke at his visitors. And he continued to do so through the whole visit. He sat in the lone armchair in the dingy apartment barely acknowledging the presence of two U.S. Marshals. He told them he had an opportunity for a better job, one more suited to his skills. He arrogantly thrust his business card at Mary. "Financial Services" it said along with his name.

The marshals left after pointedly reminding Mr. Washington of the MOU he had signed. He wasn't impressed. "Can you believe that asshole?" Mary blustered. "He's supposed to let me know if he changes job." Changing gears, she handed the business card to Marshal. "What do you know about this company?"

Pocketing the business card, Marshall assured her, "I'll check it out." She wouldn't be surprised if the names of the men in the photos resting in her lock box were listed as officers or directors of 'Financial Services.' She was certain Mike Washington was pulling a fast one. They just had to figure out how, and make the case to the DoJ.

Mary threw herself into the driver's seat. Marshall buckled up. "Umm . . .Mare, did his nose look swollen to you?"

"Swollen? Nyah. Hard to tell on that ugly mug." This is why she hadn't wanted Marshall with her. He was quite capable of putting two and two together and coming up dead.

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Back at the office, Marshall dug into Mike's new employer while Mary wrote up the visit. When Marshall's cell phone rang, he checked the caller id and walked behind the filing cabinets with their illusion of privacy.

_Who's misusing government equipment now? _She was still irritated that Marshall had quoted WITSEC regulations regarding their cell phones just a few weeks ago. Mary had a different interpretation. They had argued and gotten nowhere. No sense in repeating that futile discussion. Still, it stung that her partner thought she would abuse her position. As far as she was concerned the stuff was there to be used while she was working.

Was Marshall whining? Mary moved closer to the filing cabinets. She stilled and strained her ears. _"Yeah, I'm sorry to miss so many classes, but you know how it is. Sometimes the job . . . . "_

Uh oh, Marshall wasn't going to dance class. WTF? Why would he bail on dance class? Maybe the detective of eternal cheerfulness grated even his cast iron nerves?

_"__It's unfortunate that there are things scheduled for Friday nights. I had no input. Criminals seldom think about my schedule."_

What? As far as Mary knew there wasn't anything related to WITSEC on recent Friday nights. Why would he. . . ? Oh, wait. She had been meeting Roxanne at the Pagoda the last two Fridays. Last week she thought she saw Marshall's SUV across the street from the bar. Was that numnutz following her? He would be disappointed this Friday. Last night's get together meant she didn't need to see Roxanne till next week. Unless . . . . If he was going to be there. . . .. .

_Get what you deserve, nosy bastard. I'm trying to keep you safe and you keep sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Idiot! Gonna get yourself killed. _If Marshall had seen Mary's grim grin he would have known nothing good was coming his way.

Mary quietly returned to her desk, belatedly looking to see if Stan was watching. She made a few phone calls of her own. Marshall finished his call and sat down disgruntled. Mary wanted to tease him about girlfriend troubles, but held her tongue. "I'm done for the day," she announced. Locking her desk, and looping her messenger bag over her shoulder she said, "Thanks for everything today."

Marshall had noticed his partner clearing off her desk, locking up for the night. She seldom left at what the labor regulations euphemistically called quitting time. He wanted her to stay. Too many questions about Mary clouded his thoughts. She was out the door before he could do more than utter, "G'night."

In the parking lot, Mary punched in a number that was the result of her furtive phone calls. "Hi. I'm a friend of Shirley's. Yeah, Mary Shepard. Shirley tells me you'd be willing to help me play a joke on a friend."

After settling the details, Mary headed home. For the first time in years she was wondering what to wear.

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Friday night

In the end, Mary decided jeans and a tank top with a few more buttons undone worked just fine. She arrived at the Pagoda at her usual time. Sitting in 'their' booth was a blonde with short hair. Picking up two beers from the bar, Mary sidled over to the booth and asked "Dani?"

She observed the blonde wearing a snug boat necked top and short pencil skirt. Trim crossed legs peeked out from under the table. Dani gave Mary the once over and muttered in a deep husky voice, "Oh, I gotta get me some of those!"

Mary wasn't sure if Dani meant the beers or her boobs. "Uh, yeah. Hi. I'm Mary."

Holding out a hand for the beer, Dani confirmed, "Any friend of Shirley's is a friend of mine. Sit down, sugar." Dani batted unnaturally long eyelashes. "I'd looove to get to know you better." Mary looked around the room, hoping no one in the bar was watching them.

Mary sat gingerly next to her new 'friend' and clinked bottles. "Here's to friends. Nosy ones." Mary didn't want to be caught gazing at her seatmate. Instead she watched the rest of the customers in the mirrored back wall. "You been here before?" Mary asked.

"No, honey. Shirley told you about me, right? I wasn't born this beautiful. I'm working on it. Believe you me, by the end of the year I will be a woman in all the ways that count. As close as surgery can make me."

Giving her companion a close look, Mary assured Dani. "You look good," she nodded. After another swallow, Mary admitted, "You're better looking than half the women in here." Dani crossed her smooth shapely nylon clad legs.

Dani ducked her head shyly and muttered a heartfelt "Thank you. I've been told that's one of the tip offs though. Many women don't use makeup properly."

"Yeah, well I'm not much for makeup myself," Mary volunteered.

"You really don't need it, honey. You have beautiful skin." Dani complimented sincerely. "Hair could use a little work."

"Uh, thanks." The comment had Mary threading her fingers through her hair. _What's wrong with my hair?_

"You need a different conditioner." Dani answered her unspoken question. "One that will smooth the hair shaft but not weigh it down. Dyeing gives hair a rough texture."

Mary digested the advice while taking a long swig. Getting her nerves under control, she turned to her companion. "Can I ask you something?"

"Ah, sure." Dani hesitated.

"Are you really going to have it.." she made a chopping gesture with her hand against the table. "I mean . . .most guys I know would want an add-a-dicktomy, not . . ." she repeated the chopping motion.

Dani flinched at the chopping gesture but tittered. "Honestly, it's just in the way. I don't even think about it. I've read up on the procedures. Some of the skin and nerve endings will be used for the reconstruction. It's quite involved. Fascinating, really."

"Yeah, I'm sure," she responded drily cutting off any discussion of the details. It wasn't a topic that came up much. Mary felt her cheeks warm. She couldn't take this much longer.

"If we're going to do this, it should happen soon. You done?" Mary asked, nodding to Dani's beer.

Gulping the last of the beer, Dani nodded. "Oh yes. The sooner I get out of here the better." Dani began shimmying out of the booth. "I got plans for tonight." Mary stood next to the booth, glaring when Dani grabbed her hand. "It will look better this way."

Hand in hand they stopped on the steps outside the Pagoda. Mary stretched and spotted a green Jeep across the street. A green Jeep with a face sporting a pair of familiar blue eyes. Marshall.

"Let's not block the doorway," she instructed. "Go to the right, up against the building." _That will give Marshall the best view._

Mary smiled and Dani returned it. They walked a few steps and Mary leaned against the stone building. "Don't want to run your nylons." Dani stood in front of Mary. "How do we do this?" Mary asked. Dani giggled. "The usual way." Dani put her arms around Mary. One hand moved to caress her hair. "Despite what I said, you do have lovely hair. Blonde really suits you. Now put your hand on the back of my neck." The hairs on the back of Mary's neck stood at attention as Dani's fingers massaged her nape.

"Um..sure." Mary wasn't sure she could do this. It was way beyond awkward. They exchanged a few caresses which given the angle, looked like much more. Unwilling to do more, and wanting to get away from Dani, Mary ordered, "Let's move."

They walked to the parking lot hand in hand and stopped at a turquoise Toyota sedan parked close to the sidewalk. "This is me. Don't you love the color?" Dani exclaimed. "You don't see it very often." Leaning close to Mary, Dani whispered in her ear. "Can your friend still see us?"

"Yeah." Marshall had his head out the window like a dog on the freeway. "I can see his eyes bugging out from here." Moving in closer, Dani moved her hands towards Mary's chest, close but not actually touching. "Oh I gotta get me some of these. They are gorgeous. I can tell they are real too. Nice." Mary tried not to flinch but couldn't help moving back. Digging in her pocket she handed a folded bill to Dani, holding it below the car's hood. "That's it?" Dani complained. "Twenty bucks for the whole gig? I spent more than that on makeup tonight."

Mary shrugged. After looking to see if anyone else was watching, she grabbed Dani's face between both of her hands and kissed her soundly. _After all, Dani was still a guy. Right?_

Breathless, Dani leaned back and fanned herself. "Whew. Payment received sugar."

"Um, yeah. Thanks again. Here." Her hair curtaining her face, Mary shoved more bills at Dani. "Keep this to yourself. Never ever mention my name." These were her final words to Dani, but she smiled and fluttered her own lashes as she issued the threat. Dani got into her car, and drove past Mary, waving.

Finally at the back of the parking lot in the privacy of her own car, she sighed and lowered her shoulders. "Please start," she begged. As if answering her prayers, the Probe came to life. Mary didn't pay attention to the song playing on the radio. Lola by the Kinks. Her focus was on the Jeep across the street. She chuckled at her partner's face poking out of the driver's side window. His mouth agape, eyes practically popping out of his head. _That's what you get for being nosy, partner. _

TBC

A/N: Thanks for the reviews.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***

Chapter 10

Saturday

"Marshall! Marshaaallll!" Mary screamed pounding on the passenger window. "Damn misogynistic excuse for a car! You really are out to kill me." The window wouldn't open. The door was stuck. Outside the steamy window she saw half a dozen men in dresses and heels ignoring her. She knew they were men because of their broad shoulders and hairy legs. "Marshaaaalll!" Her pounding was frantic. She was screaming at the top of her lungs.

Mary heard her own mumbled groan and the tail end of what sounded like her partner's name as she rolled over, waking. _Nightmare_. _Crazy ass weird nightmare._ She laid still, ears alert, silent and sweating. Nightmares about shootings, near misses, and her kidnapping, weren't uncommon, but weren't anything like this. Finkel would have a field day. Finkel would dig her teeth into the cross dressers and never let go. Not that Mary would ever tell her.

Throwing the sheet aside Mary struggled to get up. "Damn bedding is out to get me," she growled as she removed the fabric encircling her ankle. Feet finally fabric free and on the floor, Mary sat on the edge of the bed. She put her elbows on her knees and breathed deep trying to calm the quivering leftover from the dream. She was grateful to be in her own bedroom. Her boots on the floor. Her clothes in the closet. The laundry basket in its usual place. _Gotta do laundry_. Everything normal.

Mary showered and dressed quickly then headed for the office. She had been spending too much time on Mike Washington. She vowed not to ask Marshall for help, but if she was going to keep up with all her witness reports, budget requests and filing she needed to be at the Sunshine Building. It was better than being at home.

Four hours and 3 cups of coffee later, Mary pushed her chair back. The reports were printed and signed. Time for a break before tackling her files. For the past three weeks she had been looking over the ABQPD documents from Roxanne. Whenever Marshall or Stan would suddenly come close to her desk she had to quickly stick printouts willy-nilly into her files. She needed to straighten out the mess. After checking the locked box, she pulled out her active files checking the contents of each.

Seeking additional confirmation for one of the documents, she opened the browser on her computer and was greeted with banner for an Albuquerque news story about city officials. Mayhem Mike had been linked to several city officials, so she needed to check. The story had Talltrees in the headline. Mary read the latest story on Kyle's trial, relieved Mike was not mentioned. Her hand was on ABQPD patrol car logs extracting them from a file labeled Child Witnesses Protocol, when the elevator dinged. Mary straightened and glared at the security door. This was supposed to be her quiet time, time to get her shit together without interruptions.

Evidently Stan had the same idea. His greeting was friendly, but irritated. "Mary! What are you doing here? It is the weekend Inspector."

Staring at her boss Mary leaned back and twirled her hair around her finger. "Yeah, well my life is just sooo exciting lately; I came in for some quiet time." Glaring at him she taunted "That **must** be why you're here."

"Hmph." Stan moseyed to her desk, looking at the computer screen. "What's so damn important that you are in the office on a Saturday?"

Pointing to the news story on her screen, Mary asked, "Did you know Kyle Talltrees is currently on trial?"

"Finally," Stan exclaimed with disgust, shaking his head. "His lawyer used every delaying tactic ever invented. The kid will be collecting Social Security before he's sentenced."

With a few key strokes, Mary changed the screen and pointed. "Especially when the chief prosecutor was shot."

"What?" Stan muttered suprised. "When did that happen?"

"Last week."

"You think the shootings and the trial are connected?" Stan didn't believe in coincidence but violence didn't fit Edwin Talltrees. Behind the scenes witness tampering, jury influencing, buying a judge or two, maybe. Shooting the DA seemed too obvious for the likes of Talltrees.

"It's too damn convenient." Mary concluded. "I made a few calls and found out where Flores, the prosecutor, is being treated. I'm going to the hospital." She locked her desk, stood, gathered her things and then looked back at Stan.

Stan accepted her invitation. "I'm coming with you Inspector." Stan thought this was a better use of his time than what he had planned. He could never predict how Mary would act with other agencies. Couldn't hurt for him to tag along. It would be good to get out of the office.

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It took their marshal badges and some name dropping at the hospital's security desk to get to see Daniel Flores, the prosecuting attorney. A uniformed police officer reached for the door handle with the greeting, "Marshals."

Entering Flores' hospital room, Mary was surprised to see the attorney sitting up, smiling and chatting on the phone. No wires, no tubes, just a finger tip device, monitor screen and the ever present call button. "I'll call you later," he said nestling his phone in the sheets. The smile was replaced by cautious curiosity.

Stan saw Mary put on her 'make nice' face as she stepped forward, presenting her badge. "Daniel Flores? I'm Marshal Mary Shepard and this is my Chief. . . ."

Mary stumbled. She'd never been in the field with Stan before. What was his cover name?

Sensing her dilemma, Stan stepped forward, extending his hand. "I'm Chief Inspector King. Nice to meet you sir although the circumstances aren't the best." The prosecutor shook his hand and stared at the two marshals.

Mary had to ask. "Weren't you shot three days ago?"

Resting against the pillows of his raised bed, Flores smiled. "My medical condition is not general knowledge," he admonished. "Neither are my whereabouts."

Stan assured him, "Your secret is safe with us, sir. We're good at keeping secrets." Mary bit her lip to hide her smile. The Secret Service were blabbermouths compared to WITSEC.

Realizing the marshals must have been cleared to see him, the attorney relaxed. With a watery grin he answered her query. "Ah the wonders of technology – Kevlar at its best."

"You were wearing a vest? That standard procedure?" Mary didn't think DA's were routinely issued such gear.

"Yes, I was wearing body armor and no, it's not standard. My personal life insurance policy, purchased last year. The cartels have threatened all DA's in New Mexico, Arizona, Texas and California."

"Looks like it was a good investment," Stan chimed in, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "If the bullet hit the vest, what are you doing here?"

"The first one hit the vest, square on. I've got the bruise to prove it. I raised my arm as I fell," he lifted his left arm, exposing the gauze and bandage near his armpit. "The second hit just above the vest. Not serious but more than a graze. Lucky shot."

"Or a well trained sniper," Mary muttered.

"They figure I'm safer here than at home." Flores nodded. He looked at Mary, then Stan. "I'm sure you're not here to discuss the efficacy of Kevlar. You here about the Talltrees case?"

"Yes." Mary put her lips together in a thin line and nodded.

"Will your shooting affect the trial?" Stan quickly asked.

Flores sighed and ruffled his hair with his good hand. "It shouldn't. I fully briefed the Assistant DA on the case. I won't be in the courtroom, but I'll be watching and advising every step of the way." He looked at Mary and Stan appraisingly. "I always wondered why there were US Marshals at Kyle Talltrees arrest"

Stan mumbled something about federal marshals, federal lands, treaties and Native Americans. Mary didn't think Flores bought it, but he seemed to know not to ask.

"You investigated his father, Edwin Talltrees." Mary didn't frame it as a question. "Find anything interesting?"

Flores blew out in frustration. "Nothing. Lots of circumstantial 'coincidences' but nothing we could take to court."

"What kind of coincidences?" Stan asked.

Flores rolled his shoulders, wincing when his stitches pulled. "Real estate buys that suddenly went his way when the other bidders dropped out. Work done by a union contractor that was billed at less than half what it should have cost. I've seen Talltrees house. No way that pool went in for $60K. That's a $250K installation minimum.

At their raised eyebrows, Flores volunteered, "My brother in law's a contractor. Specializes in outdoor pools."

Mary looked at Stan wondering if that was an angle they could use to connect Talltrees and Washington. Washington's mob contacts were associated with several trade unions. Would Washington take the risk of exposing himself to the men that wanted to kill him just to help Talltrees? Not likely.

"Anything else?" Stan asked.

"I never could make sense of the Native American jewelry shops." Mary cocked her head and gave him a puzzled look. "Talltrees owns several plots of land. .."

Mary interrupted. "He's a real estate developer," she snarked. Stan didn't approve of her tone, but at least dumbass remained unspoken.

"These are small plots, house size, no room for development. Several of the plots have shops. They're located on major highways in and around Albuquerque. They sell Indian style jewelry and fake artifacts, y'know, replicas," he explained. "The employees are all Native American but don't know the owner. Talltrees doesn't get much income from the stores. Doesn't make any sense."

"He doesn't strike me as the altruistic type," Stan acknowledged, rubbing the side of his nose.

"Me neither," Mary agreed. After Stan indicated he had no more questions, Mary said, "If you think of anything else, please, call the marshal's office in Albuquerque. It could help with an ongoing investigation. Thanks for your time. Glad to see you're doing . . . ." she tapered off, uncertain.

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Later Saturday

The office was quiet when Marshall dragged himself to his desk. He'd hardly slept a wink last night. He couldn't get the picture of Mary kissing the other woman out of his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, there she was. Grabbing the blonde, planting a passionate kiss right on the lips. The sort of kiss he'd dreamed of for years.

He had spent the night reviewing his every interaction with Mary. He needed the quiet of the office. Being near Mary's desk, but not the woman herself, might prompt some connections, some conclusion as to her current sexual preference. Mary seemed unaware of the effect she had on men, but she knew how to use it. That time in the barn where she pushed him into a stall with their witness and three killers then got them all out alive was seared in his memory. Especially the part where she pushed the diamond dealer's face into horseshit. The intensity he felt from her when she 'smeared lipstick' all over his face - was just an act, he reminded himself. Maybe that was the point. Could all her talk about 'doing some cowboy' be a cover for her actual preferred sexual partners. Cowgirls?

The last few weeks she had kept to herself. There was an outburst or two, but, he realized, always aimed at inanimate objects. No individual had gotten the Mary Shannon treatment. Not even her nitwit witnesses had sparked an angry tirade.

Mary's personal space bubble had expanded. She kept her distance, even from him. She still chewed her lip, nibbled on the tops of pencils. Her oral activities had been the focus of many of his dreams. He remembered seeing her start to tap a pencil recently, a practice she knew irritated him. Before the pencil had hit the desk twice, she clenched her jaw and put the pencil down. She was making an effort. She was self contained, not engaged with her partner.

What was wrong with Mary? Why had her behavior changed? Marshall was sure there was a connection to her kidnapping and possible flashbacks, but that didn't explain her visits to the Pagoda. True, she was sometimes courteous recently. Her politeness seemed to come and go. What caused the fluctuation? Why was she soft-spoken and polite sometimes and not others? What triggered it?

Then there was the other woman in his life. Abigail. Abigail was upset that he had missed their dance classes. She had a hard time finding a partner when Marshall wasn't there. The other men in the class were too old, too handsy or terrible dancers. He had missed two weeks in a row. He remembered her adamant refusal to dance without him. "If I had wanted to take dance classes with someone else I would have asked them!"

Marshall thought about the differences between Mary and Abigail. Upset. Abigail had been upset about dance class but she didn't seem to have it in her to be really angry. Mary on the other hand, had no problem venting her continually simmering anger. Or at least she used to. Now Mary's perennial anger seemed muted. She was anxious. Instead of anger, it seemed these days Mary Shannon was running on fear.

What scared Mary? She was the bravest person he knew. Confronting her sexuality? Looking over at his partner's desk he realized her computer was on. She must have been in earlier today. Checking the security gate and keeping an ear peeled for the elevator, Marshall moved the mouse and checked to see what she had been working on. She'd been catching up on news. And looking at pictures. The screen cleared showing several photos, one of Mike Washington, a photo Marshall hadn't seen before. The faces of the other men in the photo looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place them. Was she stalking Mayhem Mike? The elevator dinged. Marshall scrambled back to his desk, hands on his own keyboard.

Stan followed Mary through the security gate. They hadn't come to any conclusions about the Flores shooting. Marshall heard Mary say, "It looks like a professional hit. Flores just got lucky."

"If you're going to come in on a Saturday, the least you could do is to bring coffee," Marshall yelled over his shoulder by way of greeting.

Mary answered him by glaring and pointing to the coffee pot. She tossed her messenger bag on her desk and headed toward the coffee. Stan's head was down and he was mumbling, but Marshall couldn't make out the words. What the hell had happened?

"Stan?" Marshall broke the other man's focus. "What's going on?"

Stan registered Marshall's presence. "We just came from the hospital."

Alarmed, Marshall checked his boss and his partner for injuries. Stan assured him. "Not us. We went to talk to Dan Flores."

Who was Dan Flores and why would his boss and his partner go to the hospital to see him? Where had he seen that name? Marshall turned over his mental trivia trove and came up with the recent news report on Mary's computer.

Furrowing his brow and squinting he asked, "Is that the lawyer prosecuting the Talltrees boy?" He had only had time to skim the article.

Mary handed the Chief a mug of coffee and took a sip of her own. Stan croaked a strangled thanks. She never got coffee for anyone. Stan tilted his head to the conference room, and walked toward it followed by Mary and Marshall.

"Close the door," Stan said. Mary waited till Marshall sat, then sat as far from him as she could. Stan looked from one Inspector to the other. Marshall and Stan shared a concerned look. Mary kept her focus on her folded hands and ignored them.

Stan explained why they had gone to see Dan Flores and what it might mean to their witness. Although he paused in his recitation numerous times, waiting for Mary to interject, she stayed quiet. He summed it up with a frustrated, "But there's no hard evidence!"

Mary spoke for the first time. "Mike Washington has to be involved, but there's nothing to tie him to Flores' shooting, or to Talltrees." She was disgusted with their lack of progress.

"How is Flores? I thought the news reported that he took a bullet to the chest." Marshall was surprised the DA was in any condition to talk.

Over the rim of her coffee, Mary muttered, "He was wearing a vest. Smart guy." She took a sip.

"Very smart," agreed Stan.

"Did he have any new information on Talltrees?" Marshall wondered.

Stan told Marshall about Talltrees unusual property holdings. Unusual for a real estate developer who usually dealt with tracts of land not individual small parcels. "Do you know where?" Marshall inquired.

"Not exactly. Flores said they are on major highways. A property title search should turn them up," Stan suggested.

"Then that's where I'll start." Marshall rose and headed for the door.

"What about you Mary?" Stan needed to know his impetuous inspector would not be running into a firefight.

"I" she stood focusing her sharp gaze on Stan, "will keep watching Mike, waiting for him to screw up, waiting for the results of his off shore accounts, doing my damn job," Mary muttered. Stomping over to her desk she muttered, "I hate waiting."

While Marshall and Stan couldn't agree more, it seemed that Mary was willing to wait. At least for now.

Once Mary had settled in to work at her desk, Marshall followed Stan into his office. Stan was studying several photos. Without moving his lips Marshall asked "Did you talk to Shelley?"

Stan pushed a document across the table. Not looking at Marshall he responded, "She's on vacation for the next two weeks."

"Damn."

TBC

A/N: I hope you aren't still too stuffed to review.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***

Chapter 11

Sunday

Mary and Roxanne decided to switch their meeting time and place. Predictability could get them killed. At the gym they chatted amiably between pull-ups and leg lifts huffing only a little on the treadmill. Workouts completed, Roxanne entered a large handicapped changing stall in the dressing room. Checking around the locker room, Mary quickly followed her.

Mary sat on the bench, pulling her feet up so only one pair of feet showed below the privacy panel. Roxanne wordlessly spread out a new batch of photos on the bench next to Mary. Examining one of them, Mary recognized Robert Epps aka Robert Patrone, the former Chicago detective. Mary was relieved when he left WITSEC but not happy that he stayed in Albuquerque. She hadn't seen him in years and wished to keep it that way. Her wishes didn't seem to have much pull these days.

"Who's this?" Mary whispered, pointing to the man she thought was Epps.

Roxanne leaned over to see what had caught Mary's eye.

The photo, taken outdoors, was of a baseball team, with shirts sporting the name Desert Thunder. "Is that... Is that Epps?" Mary asked. She knew Roxanne wouldn't, couldn't forget the man she had thought murdered her partner.

Examining the photo Roxanne replied "Yes," hissing the final letter. Roxanne picked up the photo and turned it over. "Thomas played baseball. This was his team. That's him." She pointed to a tall man on the right. "It must have been in his locker. I grabbed everything, but didn't think this was important." Roxanne looked at Mary wondering exactly what her connection to Epps had been. "Do you think he is involved?"

Mary put her mouth close to Roxanne's ear. "I don't know, but I'm going to find out. Can you meet me at the usual place tonight?"

"Yes. It's still available," Roxanne quietly assured her. "We need to find another place soon. The residents might remember us."

"Hang on to this stuff." Mary shoved the lock box deep into Roxanne's gym bag."I'll get back to you tonight." Changing into street clothes, Mary checked her gun, badge and phone, tying her sweatshirt at her waist to cover them.

Roxanne nodded. "Yeah. I'll be there." Realizing she had said that at a normal volume, she lowered her voice to a whisper and added, "I'm going to inventory this stuff so we know what we have."

"So when it disappears along with our bodies, there will at least be a list," Mary groused quietly. Roxanne smirked.

Mary opened the stall door, not looking down the aisle to her right were an auburn haired woman quietly entered a stall.

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Mary pulled the Probe up in front of a white clapboard house complete with a front porch and rocking chair. A big screen TV with tonight's major league baseball game was visible through the front window. She winced as she remembered her first meeting with Roxanne in that front yard. She had caught Marshall watching their televised catfight more than once.

Epps answered her knock beer in hand. His smile and soft "Hey" faded when he saw Mary's scowl. "Mary," he opened the door wider. "I take it this isn't a booty call."

"Dream on, asshole," Mary grumped, pushing her way in and slamming the door. Not wasting time, she stood, arms crossed and confronted Epps. "Do you know Mike Washington?"

When Epps appeared nonplussed by the name, Mary tried again. "How about Mike Jefferson?"

She saw a flicker of recognition and pounced. "You do know him. What's your connection? What do you know?"

Epps sat down in the leather recliner facing the TV, keeping one eye on Mary and the other on the muted television. Sighing, he turned to watch the game. "He's the one that got away. Bastard." Epps took a sip from his beer then pointed the bottle to Mary, silently offering her one. She shook her head. "You know I bent some rules to get justice. No matter what I tried I could not get him."

Epps gave her the rundown on Mike Jefferson's Chicago organization and operation. His details fleshed out what little Mary knew about the pre-WITSEC Mike Jefferson/Washington. Epps confirmed that Mike was every bit as ruthless and violent as his nickname.

"What do you know about him now?" Mary pressed.

Peering over his beer, Epps frowned. "My usual sources aren't available." He shifted in the recliner, lowering the empty bottle to the carpet. "You know that. I haven't heard anything."

"Yeah," Mary replied. "But have you seen anything?" Epps had been a detective and a good investigator. Even without his 'resources' he was capable of discovering a fair amount if he tried. Mary was certain he had tried since discovering Mike Washington was living in Albuquerque. Epps pretended to be absorbed in the game, but Mary knew he had seen Mayhem Mike. Albuquerque might be New Mexico's largest city, but it couldn't compare to Chicago's 2.75 million.

"Where did you see him, Epps?" Mary persisted. "When did you find out he was here?"

Epps shifted, uncomfortable in his chair, but didn't answer. Mary figured he had been investigating Mike on his own.

Shifting tactics, Mary asked, "Did you know Officer Thomas?" When Epps still didn't answer, she elaborated, "The ABQ police officer who was shot by his own?"

Epps head shot up and he turned to stare at her. "Who says?"

"The coroner's report for one," Mary replied drily.

Epps eyes followed her. "You've seen it?" She nodded. "You saw the coroner's report?" he demanded. While technically, Mary hadn't seen the original report, Roxanne's testimony was good enough.

"Yeah, and not the one you get with a public information request. The first one. The real one."

"Goddammit Tommy." Epps swore, his voice choked. He put his hands to his head, his elbows on his knees, folded in grief.

"What do you know about Mayhem Mike's connection to corruption at ABQPD?"

Mary sat across from Epps while he told her how Officer Tommy Thomas was on his baseball team. They both loved the game and could spot a cop regardless of the uniform. Over years and beers Tommy came to trust Epps and told him about the suspicious activities at ABQPD.

"I told him he was signing his own death warrant. He should have left the department if he couldn't ignore it. Damn boy scout. I knew they had him killed, I just couldn't prove it. Couldn't get close enough to the evidence."

That was enough for Mary. She was certain Epps could help connect Mike Washington and Edwin Talltrees. They just needed time and answers. Maybe with Epps help they'd know which questions to ask.

"Where can I reach you?" Mary asked as she scribbled his number on a piece of paper. "You goddamn better answer when I call." Mary couldn't tell him more than she already had. She had to get back to Roxanne and see where this fit, and find a new place to meet. All the documents had to go back to the safety of the Sunshine Building.

TBC

A/N: Reviews please?


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***

Chapter 12

Monday morning

Mary was at the WITSEC office bright and early. So early that when Marshall arrived his usual 30 minutes before shift, he thought she might have spent the night. It wouldn't be the first time. He was still puzzled and worried about Mary. Distraction or flashbacks? Or a distraction that caused a flashback? He had hoped Shelley could parse out Mary's problem.

Mary had left his place suddenly Wednesday night. He didn't think he had offended her, but something had made her eat and run. She used to hang out at his place for hours, even without the lure of ribs. After seeing her outside the Pagoda Friday night he conceded that male companionship must make her uncomfortable. Why would she be reacting to the near rape now? Could that have turned her against all men? Even him?

His heart ached to think that she would lump him in with the slime who attacked her. His fierce exotic animal was suffering. And he didn't know how to help her.

Marshall's eyebrows rose to meet his hairline when he saw a tall cup of coffee from his favorite shop sitting on his desk. The brownies hadn't been poisoned, but . . . . The steam rising from the paper cup meant it hadn't been there long.

"Is this for me?" he squeaked, somewhere between delighted and surprised.

Mary thought, "_Why else would it be sitting on your desk, nitwit."_ But she had promised to treat her partner with respect. Stifling her usual outburst she greeted him mildly. "Good morning. You bought coffee last week, so I'm . uh. returning the favor. I've got those files ready in the conference room. When Stan comes in I'll show you both everything I found."

That was her first lie, but not her last. Mary would have to be very careful, very selective with what she told Stan and Marshall. Stan might seem like an ineffectual pussy cat, but Mary knew better. Beneath that shiny pate lay a sharp investigating mind with years of experience. Experience with people trying to fool him. Marshall's attention to detail could be her undoing.

Stan arrived and they headed for the conference room. The table held Mary's paltry offerings. Mike Washington's financial reports. The bank statements. The data from Dershowitz. A city newsletter with a photo of Mike with the Director of Constituent Services for Albuquerque. Another photo with someone wearing a Parks and Rec logo shirt, and a photo of Mike shaking hands with the second in command at the Municipal Development agency. Last but not least, the photo of Mike with a cluster of men that Mary was sure included Edwin Talltrees. If only she could prove it.

Standing behind the table, Mary gestured. "This is it. Not much, I know, but . . . .."

Stan sipped his coffee and walked around the table. "Mary, DoJ is desperate for his testimony. The case goes to trial in 2 months. Without Mike Washington there is no case."

Marshall picked up the Water Authority newsletter, appalled. Mike wasn't supposed to have his picture published. It violated his WITSEC MOU. "This is an Albuquerque city department newsletter. Some of other photos look like they are from the other city newsletters. That's how I missed them." Technically, as Mary's witness, Mary had missed them. But she had them now.

"We'll have to find out who gets these newsletters. If they are emailed, we're screwed. Can you get the distribution for these from the city manager?"

"Yeah," Stan responded hesitantly. Mary knew she and Stan were both missing Eleanor now.

Mary cleared her throat. "I know it isn't much. The financials are inconclusive, except for that off shore account. Have you been able to dig any deeper into that?"

Still looking at the photos, Marshall distractedly replied "Nuh uh." Putting a photo down, he elaborated. "I've been stonewalled at every directory."

Picking up the photo of Mike with a group of men, Marshall exclaimed, "That's Edwin Talltrees."

Mary knew Marshall was observant, but how could he tell who it was by the back of the guy's head? Talltrees wasn't the only pony tailed Native American in Albuquerque.

"See," Marshall pointed to the man's wrist. "Talltrees wore that at Kyle's arraignment." He pointed to an inlaid turquoise bracelet. "I've seen similar pieces at the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center. It's pre 1900 and worth a small fortune. I doubt there are two in all of New Mexico."

"Way to go partner." With the table between them, Mary couldn't give him a victory slap him on the back. She wasn't usually impressed by his prodigious memory. Right now she was thrilled that Marshall had managed to pull a useful fact out of his shitload of minutia. "Maybe we can bag two snakes with this sack."

Marshall blushed at her praise. He certainly could get used to it. Maybe Stan should forget about getting her an appointment with the shrink. Taking a deep breath, he replaced the newsletter and fingered the financial analysis he had created.

"You weren't just looking for a reason to get Mike kicked out of WITSEC?" Marshall knew Mary had taken an instant dislike to this witness. He couldn't blame her. The man was a womanizer who had tried to manhandle her. He suspected Mike was the one who had given her the bruises he saw on her arms.

"Nyah. I have a nose for cluster fucks," she explained. "As much as I'd like to see that asshole behind bars, I wasn't looking **that** hard. Most of this just kind of fell into my lap. That's what got me thinking of Bobby D. He's got access to Chicago PD reports on Mike Jefferson."

"I'm sure he does." Marshall examined one of the agency newsletters. Despite living in Albuquerque for some years he had seen only a few. Despite Mary's protest, she had to dig to find those.

While Marshall was examining the newsletter Mary realized her blunder. She knew newsletters weren't easy to find . "I . . . I had a problem with my water bill. The retards I got on the helpless line were useless. I ended up going down to city hall. While cooling my heels in the waiting room I spotted our star witness." She pointed to the newsletter. "I'd recognize that ugly mug anywhere."

Marshall knew that the Water Authority was a state agency at Civic Plaza. It was possible that a newsletter from the Water Authority had ended up at city hall. Maybe she just mixed up city hall with Civic Plaza? It wasn't worth getting reamed out by Mary for a detail that didn't make any real difference.

"While I was waiting to speak to a live person, I picked up that newsletter and took it with me. At first I thought we could get him for having his picture taken, but once I noticed who he was with, I figured there was more going on."

"Stan," Marshall caught the Chief's attention. "I'd like to bring in another marshal to hack into that off shore bank."

"Another marshal? Are you insane? We don't have enough to bring in an outsider," Mary protested.

"Mary's right. If word of what I think this means gets out, we could bring the wrong kind of attention to this WITSEC office." Leave it to Stan to see the bigger picture. _If only he knew just how big._

"Not an outsider. Someone I know and trust." Marshall cocked his head and drawled. "My brother."

Stan interjected, "He can't know where . . "

"Relax Stan. He knows better than to ask, but he can crack this faster than I can. It will still be within the Marshal Service." Marshall finished. He looked at Mary. She was looking at the table, or the floor, he couldn't tell. Her downturned face and hair hid her expression. She had barely looked at him or Stan the entire time. Marshall felt sad for his entire gender if Mary Shannon decided to give up men.

"What do you think, Mare?" the Chief asked. "You're the one who dug this up."

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TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***

Chapter 13

Tuesday

"Hi Abigail." Mary waved a greeting to the detective from their booth at the BBQ place. She had seen Abigail enter and wanted to give her partner, sitting with his back to the door, fair warning.

Craning his neck to look behind him, Marshall greeted the bouncy brunette "Hey Abigail."

"After you mentioned this place I figured I'd give it a try. Any eatery that gets the Marshall seal of approval sounds good to me. Running into you is just a bonus," she chirped. Abigail gave Marshall a long lingering look and face splitting smile as she stood at the end of the booth. Marshall noticed the look she gave Mary was more curious than friendly. "Hello Mary. That looks delicious."

"Yup," Mary answered her mouth full. Marshall cringed. He knew Mary's abrasive personality could offend anyone at any time. He didn't want the detective to think that he approved of Mary's crude language and thoughtless behavior. Few people knew the Mary Shannon behind the bluster. When he heard his partner say "Why don't you join us? It doesn't take long to get another. I've got BBQ beef here. Want to try a bite?" Marshall grabbed a napkin to cover his mouth as his lemonade spluttered out.

After eyeing her partner to make certain that he didn't need the hineykick maneuver, Mary took a knife to her sandwich and cut a section, put it on a napkin and pushed it toward Abigail. When Marshall didn't react she prompted, "Move over, string bean. Let her sit down."

Marshall scooted down the bench, and Abigail sat close to him, nibbling the sample. Her smile, raised brows and nod signaled her approval. Mary hopped up and ordered for Abigail. Marshall craned his neck to watch his partner order and pay for Abigail's food.

Conversation slowed as they chowed down. It took Marshall several tries to get his mouth to work. After several bites, Abigail sighed contentedly. "You sure know how to pick 'em, Marshall. I didn't know I'd run into you here, but since I did, I want to thank you." Mary perked up, wondering what Marshall had done for his new girlfriend. Marshall was always thoughtful, always the gentleman. He was even nice to her. In the past she had never acknowledged the things he did for her.

Marshall smiled at his girlfriend. "Thank me? For what? Mary bought lunch." Abigail always seemed to be in a good mood, and she never took anything he did for her for granted.

"No silly, for this." Abigail held out a small box. Marshall looked puzzled. Abigail opened it and set it on the table between them. It held a flat green turquoise stone pendant roughly rectangular with an inlaid silver design. Mary blinked as she recognized the design as the one on her own birthday gift years ago. "May you sleep under the tall trees," Mary recited quietly.

"What?" Abigail asked. Marshall looked up, interested.

"The design. It's an Indian symbol for tall trees." Mary clarified.

"My, my, when did you become the Native American trivia maven?" Marshall teased. He remembered the case with Edwin Talltrees. _So that's how she knew. The symbol on the pendant matched the tattoo on Kyle Talltrees and Sienna Burke._

Ducking her head, Mary mumbled. "My sister gave me one similar to that." She gestured toward the pendant.

Marshall's thoughts went to the ongoing trial of Kyle Talltrees. He turned to his girlfriend who was smiling expectantly. "It's lovely, but I can't take credit for it."

"Really?" Abigail questioned. "I thought if anyone could find a way to get this into my locker at the station it would be a United States Marshal." She looked puzzled and a bit worried. "So it wasn't you?"

Marshall smiled and ducked his head. "You overestimate my authority, Abigail. I wish I had thought of it since you seem to like it. I'm sure you have many admirers on the force."

While the two traded pleasantries, Mary's hand moved toward the jewelry box. "May I?" she asked.

"Sure," Abigail responded still focused on Marshall. Mary picked up the small box, turning it this way and that. Holding the pendant so it wouldn't fall out, she gently lifted the white cotton padding. A yellow post it was stuck to the bottom of the box. Checking that Abigail and Marshall weren't looking, she removed it, patting the padding into place.

Lunch eaten, Mary trotted to the truck while Marshall and Abigail sauntered, chatting and saying their goodbyes. Except Abigail had more to say than good bye.

"I saw Mary at the gym yesterday." Before he could interject, Abigail added. "She was in a stall in the dressing room with another woman. I overheard them arranging to meet. It sounded as if they get together regularly. I heard Mary say 'the usual place.'" Marshall inhaled quickly taken aback despite what he had seen with his own eyes outside the Pagoda Friday night.

He couldn't think. To buy time he asked, "Why are you so concerned, Abigail? Women get together for coffee, shopping, comparing recipes all the time." _But not Mary. I can't think of a time Mary went out with another woman who wasn't a relative or a witness._

Abigail took his arm with a concerned expression. "Marshall," she hissed, exasperated, checking to see that Mary wasn't within hearing distance. "They were in the same stall. She's your partner. If she is at risk, so are you. I worry about you, Marshall."

"What risk? Her lifestyle choices are her own." Marshall defended. He still didn't buy the Mary as a lesbian theory, but the evidence was mounting. If Abigail could be believed.

"Don't be naive," Abigail whispered fervently. "Information like that could be used for blackmail."

"Is that what you're planning, Abigail? Blackmail?" Marshall hissed. He didn't want to think Abigail would blackmail Mary, but he wanted that possibility eliminated now. Being gay and in law enforcement was far from common, but it could and had been done. He feared that coming out would entail more finesse than Mary possessed. If she was gay.

Abigail recoiled. "How can you think that? I just want you both to be safe. That's all. Don't ignore it. Just look at the evidence," Abigail pleaded. She was miffed that her warning was being downplayed.

Unable to speak, Marshall nodded. He did have plenty of evidence. Mary's politeness. The kiss he had witnessed outside the Pagoda. Abigail's sightings. The bruises on her arms. The times she zoned out. The way she avoided him, avoided being touched. Her recertification scores. Going on vacation. None of these were things Mary normally did.

"See you later?" she asked hopefully.

"Yeah, sure," Marshall replied not sure if he did want to see the bearer of bad news again soon. He was going to have to confront Mary about this. He'd give $1000 to have someone else do it. But Abigail was right. Mary's liaisons had the potential to jeopardize him and their witnesses.

_Lover's spat?_ Mary had heard Abigail raise her voice. She had purposely left the lovebirds to say their farewells with a bit of privacy. Mary was preoccupied with the pendant and the threat. The yellow square tucked into her pocket felt like it was burning her backside. She had to talk to Roxanne. Someone at ABQPD seemed to know that records and reports were being examined and copied. Someone suspected Abigail.

Still agitated by his girlfriend's accusations, Marshall thoughtlessly grabbed Mary's elbow and hissed, "What did you do?"

Instead of a slam to the bicep, Mary replied "What?" Her mind was far from lunch, running through the evidence and who at ABQPD had discovered Roxanne's investigation. Surprised by her lack of response, Marshall's eyebrows raised.

Mary thought back to the last thing she and Marshall had done. "What? I bought lunch. I told you I was buying today," she reminded him. "Abigail joined us, it was still lunch, I was still buying," Mary explained, as if speaking to a small child. It did make sense, but not Mary Shannon sense.

"What did you take out of that box?" Marshall may have seemed focused on Abigail, but he was always paying attention, especially when it came to Mary.

"What box?" she responded innocently. Marshall backed her against the car door. "You know what box. What did you put in your pocket?" He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the knee to the groin he expected.

Mary didn't yell, she didn't even sock him. Instead she looked at him wide-eyed and innocent. Now he was worried. What was wrong with her? He backed off, giving them breathing room. Mary checked the parking lot for bystanders. Marshall did the same then resumed his interrogation. "I saw you, Mary. Don't deny it. What did you remove from that box?"

Mary jerked her elbow free and rushed around the truck to the driver's door. "Mare," he warned. She responded with a closed hard squint. Marshall thought of it as her _you are an idiot_ look.

In the driver's seat she faced the passenger window and hissed "Not. Here." She jammed the key into the ignition and released the brake. Marshall's boot had just left the ground when the car started moving.

"Mare?" He asked again as he slammed the door.

"What part of **not** **here** don't you understand?" she growled. _There she is. That's the fierce Mary Shannon I know. _

The ride back to the Sunshine Building was fast and tense. Marshall imagined several different explanations for Mary's meetings, but each one had a flaw – they didn't fit any of their current witnesses. Mary never bought lunch or brought coffee without asking for payment. It was another piece of evidence. Something was seriously out of whack in Mary's world.

Once at the Sunshine Building parking lot Mary threw the truck into park and fled the vehicle. Mary was already in the elevator when Marshall's long reach allowed him to grab the door, forcing her to wait for him. At the security gate, Mary swiped her card and stormed to her desk. Ignoring Marshall, she dug for the lock box in her desk drawer. She took the box and the file on Mike Washington into the conference room, not looking to see if Marshall followed.

Once in the conference room, Mary unlocked the box and began arranging the contents on the table. Without looking up, she ordered Marshall to close the door. Marshall walked around the table looking at the documents and photos.

At first Marshall thought it was the Mike Washington file. Then he noticed some documents and photos that he hadn't seen. "These are ABQPD rosters and patrol car logs. There's a couple of after action reports too."

Marshall examined the logs, squinting at the bottom of the page where the authorizing name and signature appeared.

"That's right. Nancy Drew approved these. Do you understand now why I couldn't tell you? That's her signature, verifying roll call, verifying payroll. She could have been part of it."

"Part of what?" Marshall demanded.

Pointing to each photo, Mary continued. "Mayhem Mike, Edwin Talltress, the Regional Commander for ABQPD. They are all involved. The patrol car logs and roll calls signed by your girlfriend seemed to show she was too. I couldn't put you in the middle of that."

"What's changed? Why tell me now?" Marshall was irritated, but intrigued.

Reaching into her back pocket, Mary extracted a folded note and handed it to him. It read: "Butt out or you'll sleep under the tall trees permanently."

"There's a threat to Abigail's life and you didn't tell her?" Marshall blurted.

"She's better off if she doesn't know. She's safer that way," Mary contended.

Marshall was incensed. "Says who? Why do you get to decide if Abigail is safe?"

"Wait till you know what I know. Then you can decide. Right now, I'm the only one in this room who has all the facts. Or most of them," she amended.

Walking around the table Mary pointed to each document and what it meant. The unworked hours that were paid, the police reports from officers not on duty, the missing or misplaced evidence, the cops with expensive watches and luxury cars. The real estate deals that suddenly went Edwin Talltrees way. The Native American jewelry shops that Talltrees owned. It all pointed to corruption on a grand scale.

Stan walked in half way through Mary's presentation. He quickly caught the meaning of the documents and the threat it posed to his Inspector. Mike Washington's indiscretions were a small piece of a much bigger puzzle. And there were major pieces missing.

"Where did you get this?" Stan asked.

"I can't tell you. Not yet. I can tell you that Officer Thomas' death wasn't accidental. I know that he was investigating what you see here. He was murdered, shot in the back because of that. There may be others who were 'removed' from the force the same way."

"You've got a lot of documents here Inspector. Where is the money in Mayhem Mike's overseas account coming from? How is he connected to Edwin Talltrees? Who is providing muscle to Mike? He can't go to his old contacts. They want him dead."

Her hands flat on the table, Mary leaned toward her Chief and her partner. "All very good questions. Any ideas?"

TBC

A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Chapter 14

Still Tuesday

"Wait a minute." Marshall interjected. "Why isn't Mike Washington dead? If his old bosses had been looking, they would have found him by now."

"Another good question," Mary sniped.

"Look at the people in these photos with Mike" Stan declared. "Low level bureaucrats for the most part. Easy to bribe. Cheaper to blackmail."

As he heard the word blackmail, Marshall thought about his lunchtime conversation with Abigail. What were the chances that Abigail would blackmail his partner? Should he tell Mary she'd been seen and could be outed? The embrace and kiss he's witnessed outside the Pagoda seemed to prove she preferred women. What did that mean for their partnership?

"Marshall?' Stan called. "You with us?" Both Stan and Mary had noticed Marshall's blank expression.

Mary hoped he had seen a connection, made one of his wonderful leaps based purely on the evidence and the shitload of details that rattled around in his head. "What have you got partner? What have you found out about Mike's new employer?"

Grateful that his partner couldn't read his mind, he admitted, "Other than my initial financial analysis I don't have much. As for the company – it's privately owned, so there's no 10K on file with the SEC. I've checked utility bills for the address and there's almost no activity there.

"Almost?" Mary questioned.

"Despite the fact that the building appears empty, there's a state of the art security system. That's what's using electricity."

"A shell company," Stan concluded.

"Or a storage area," Mary added.

Marshall nodded. "Phone records show a number of international calls to the Cayman Islands. Specifically, the bank that has Mike Washington's account." Mary thought he looked like the cat that swallowed the canary.

Mary smiled at her partner. "Way to go Marshall!" she congratulated. "That's one connection. Now if only we knew how Edwin Talltrees fits in."

Stan groaned. "I don't even want to think that our witness is continuing his life of crime in Albuquerque. If it's true, we are done. There is no way to pursue this without getting burned ourselves."

Mary stood up straight and took a deep breath, knowing they weren't going to like what she had to say. "I've got one more player, one more possible source," she corrected. Stan and Marshall perked up; probably thinking Mary would divulge her source at ABQPD. Neither of them expected the name they heard.

"Robert Epps." Mary watched both of them, expecting the revulsion she saw on Marshall's face. Stan looked as if he had swallowed a lemon.

The hair on the back of Marshall's neck rose. That name and Faber's had the same effect. Despite her denial, he knew Epps had slept with Mary. He'd heard the wire tap where Epps boasted of nailing a hot WITSEC inspector. As much as he wanted it not to be true, Epps sounded credible. That damn juice fast had driven her crazy. Why else would she risk her career having sex with a witness? Good thing Epps wasn't in the program anymore. Recovering from his wool gathering, Marshall asked sharply, "How is he involved?" He hoped it was in a criminal way.

Hands on hips, Mary continued. "He was a friend of the late Officer Tommy Thomas. Epps and Thomas were on the same baseball team. Got to be buddies. Epps knew Mike Jefferson from Chicago. He spotted Mike Washington and was keeping tabs on him. Thomas suspected bribery and more. He was afraid to go to Internal Affairs." She had gotten that out in one long exhale her voice trailing off.

Looking straight at Marshall and Stan she put her hands flat on the table on each side of her body, and leaned toward them. "Epps didn't stop being a detective just because that wasn't his job. In Chicago Epps had tried to indict Mike Jefferson but never got the charges to stick. Epps thought Thomas' death was damn convenient, and so do I."

"So," Stan wondered, "Was all this" he gestured to the table, "uncovered by Thomas?"

Mary nodded. "Most of it. Bobby sent this." She pointed to 20 pages of text. "Stuff about Mike Jefferson's organization since Mike left Chicago. This," she picked up a slimmer report, "is Epps service record." Looking to Marshall, "We're still waiting for more detail on the off shore account, right?"

Marshall checked his phone. "My bro says he's made some progress and should have something for us by tomorrow, or late tonight."

"Good, good," Stan muttered.

Marshall picked up Epps service record. "What else does Epps know?" he asked as he leafed through the document. Marshall felt his skin crawl as he considered that Mary had kept in touch with the douchbag. Dating women might seem the better choice.

"Not as much as he suspects" Mary informed, glad neither of them was questioning the source of the evidence. "Mike Jefferson and Robert Patrone go all the way back to Chicago. Epps followed Mike waiting for him to slip up."

"You think he has different pieces for this puzzle?" Stan speculated.

"He might," Mary hedged.

Realizing where this was leading, Marshall raised his eyebrows and pointed to Mary. "You can't bring a civilian here!"

"Marshall" Mary tried to get Marshall to face the facts. "He already knows who we are. There's no security breach, and this goes beyond WITSEC," Mary reasoned.

"No. Mary. No." Marshall insisted, shaking his head adamantly.

"Step off, both of you." Stan ordered. He stood beside Marshall, facing Mary. "No, we shouldn't bring a civilian here. But Epps isn't exactly a civilian. He was a cop and he knows where we are, who we are, and he knows we can be trusted. He can't go to the police. We already have one dead cop. We need to know what he knows."

Mary was relieved that Stan had made her case better than she could. Marshall was likely to go along with Stan, but she knew he would have stuck to his guns if Mary had made the same argument.

"Whatever you do, Mare, don't pick him up in your car." Marshall advised. "Your Probe doesn't exactly blend in."

Looking at the ceiling Mary nodded, acknowledging Marshall's suggestion. Hands on her hips, she rotated back and forth, a gleam in her eyes and small smile gracing her face. "I see your point. Would you happen to know where I could borrow something less obvious, oh, say, maybe a green Jeep?" Looking over her shoulder Mary watched her partner squirm out of the corner of her eyes.

Marshall blanched. "Why would you want a green Jeep?" Had Mary seen him watching the Pagoda when she met Dani?

Arms leaving her hips, Mary tossed her hair nonchalantly with one hand. "I heard ABQPD uses them for undercover work. They might take it for one of theirs and leave us alone."

Taking the exchange at face value, Stan asked, "Marshall? Do you know if the PD uses green Jeeps?"

Marshall gulped. "I know they have one, but I don't know how it's used, or if they have more than one." Marshall had borrowed the Jeep from the ABQPD but he hadn't asked Abigail. He didn't need to.

Stan snorted. "It's not like we can ask them." Mary leaned toward Stan and squinted. "You think that might give the game away?" she snarked.

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In the end, it was a silver SUV not a green Jeep that Mary drove to Epps place in the darkening twilight. She had shrugged when Marshall insisted on coming along.

Having answered Mary's call earlier, Epps was waiting nervously by his front door. At her knock he poked his head out checking right and left. Seeing Marshall in the passenger seat, he sprinted for the open rear door. Mary got in and drove away without her usual squeal and speed.

Twenty minutes later Epps complained. "Are you lost? Why the tour of the city?"

"Shut up," Marshall ordered him gruffly.

"Making sure we're not followed," Mary answered. "You're lucky we didn't shove your nose into the carpet." After that, Epps slumped below the windows. Once at the parking structure, Marshall got out did his safety check, and then nodded to Mary and Epps.

Stan was waiting at the security gate. Mary stalked to the conference room, swiping Epps service record off the table. Marshall followed with Epps. While Epps walked around the table, viewing the photos and documents, Mary tucked Epps service record under her arm. She nodded to Stan. As Chief, he should take the lead.

"We've shown you ours," Stan told Epps. "Now tell us what we don't know."

Epps rubbed his chin, picking up some of the photos several times. Marshall sat near the door, watching, waiting. Mary noted which photos piqued Epps' interest. The silence stretched uncomfortably. Marshall crossed his legs and broke out a granola bar which earned him a glare from Mary. He wordlessly offered her one, but she shook her head.

Epps finally stepped away from the table and turned to his impatient audience of three. "I don't have any solid proof. I do recognize some of the guys in these photos."

"See this guy here?" he pointed to the broad back and the side of a beefy face. "That's John Mastrano, Jefferson's main man in Chicago. He couldn't be in Albuquerque without the sanction of the big boss."

Epps picked up another photo. "This pipsqueak is Squeaky Smithers. I never could figure out who he worked for. He didn't seem to report to Jefferson, yet he ran errands for him. He's also from Chicago."

Placing that photo on the table, he pointed to another. "This guy is Edwin Talltrees."

"He's not from Chicago," Marshall drawled, glad to find someone Epps didn't know from Chicago.

Epps turned to look at Marshall. "Right. He's from here, supposedly in real estate."

Stan asked "Why do you say supposedly?"

"I can't prove it, but I think his main job is laundering money for the mob. I don't know. It could be the drug cartels. Maybe Mike Jefferson's old organization."

"If you had the resources, "Stan emphasized the last word to make it clear he meant law enforcement databases and such, "how would you go about proving that it is money laundering?"

Epps thought for a moment. "First off I'd get Homeland Security involved. The money could be going to fund terrorists. They're very big on that."

Stan looked up and blew out through pursed lips. "Mary? Marshall?"

Marshall's phone chimed. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket and walked to a corner. Scrolling through the message, he nodded, and then turned to the others. "My .. uh.." Marshall hesitated, catching himself just in time. Epps didn't need to know who had been checking Mike Jefferson's bank accounts. "My sources concur. The Department of Homeland Security has the tools to find the connections we suspect. Given the dollar amounts we've uncovered so far, they would definitely be interested. Matter of fact, I have the name of a cyber-security specialist who could do the job."

_So that's who his brother works with. _

Mary nodded and Stan said, "Let's do it, people. Let me clear it with the district."

"What" Mary exclaimed, "No Stan, you can't..." She started walking toward Stan, one arm stretched to stop him.

"Calm down Inspector. I'm not going to reveal any details. I'm just telling them that we're contacting Homeland Security. They will hear about it and it's better if they hear it from me. It's a sensitive matter and we want access to our investigation restricted. They'll go along as long as they get an official report when it's over."

"Wait, wait," Epps interrupted. "You're going to give this entire mess to Homeland Security?"

"No," Mary replied resolutely. "They get Mike's accounts and the jewelry store deposits. If they're any good, they will lead us to ABQPD and Edwin Talltrees."

Marshall raised his eyebrows in approval. Stan thought for a minute. "That should keep us in the clear. We found the accounts and made them available for investigation." He nodded. Looking at his Inspectors he added, "Just doing our jobs."

"Damn straight," Mary concurred.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Girls Will Be Girls – Chapter 15

Friday

Waiting to hear from Homeland Security had everyone on edge. Stan was pacing. First in his office, then in Marshall and Mary's space. Stan demanded witness updates from Marshall after he had just put his typed reports on Stan's desk. When Mary questioned whether Marshall and his brother knew what they were doing, it was Marshall's turn to snap.

"What is it with you two?" he asked, swiveling his desk chair to face both Mary and Stan. "Is it Pick on Marshall Day?" Stan looked sheepish and apologized. Mary looked thoughtful. "That came out wrong. I know you, and if you think your brother's skills are what we need then his advice is sound. That's good enough for me."

Slapping a folder on his desk, Marshall glared at Mary. "You sure have a funny way of showing it."

Mary looked away, put her hands on her desk and swiveled her chair to face him. "I'm sorry Marshall. I'm worried that Mike will get away. Again. Waiting for someone else to find the evidence is ... .." she hesitated.

Marshall let out a breath and supplied, "nerve wracking. Yes, but that's no reason to take it out on me."

"You're right." Marshall turned to stare at her. She looked at the floor. He'd have to put this on his calendar. Mary Shannon admitting, in front of their boss, that Marshall was right. "You're just damn convenient. I'm sorry. I'll" she hesitated, looked at him and went on. "I'll try and do better." Mary looked contrite. Marshall looked at Stan. "If I start, just call me on it. I'm an idiot sometimes." She gave him a watery smile.

Stan retreated to his office, adding his signature to the reports Marshall had just submitted.

Seeing that Mary was still not looking his way, Marshall got his phone out and held it below the desktop. He texted Stan: Finkel?

Stan didn't look up. Still appearing to be reviewing reports, he texted Marshall. Still on vacation. Think she'd see someone else?

Marshall looked up and saw Stan was now watching him. Marshall shook his head. No, _Mary barely tolerates Shelley. No way she'd see someone new._

Marshall walked over to Mary's desk. She looked up at him, her face open. "Mare, have you thought about seeing someone, talking to someone, someone like Shelley, about your issues?"

Mary turned away, addressing the empty office. "Issues, now I have issues?" This was the old Mary. This was the Mary Shannon he knew.

Marshall knew he was taking his life in his hands. But this is Mary. He had to do it. "Face it Mare. You haven't been yourself lately."

_That's because my best friend isn't around much. _

She fiddled with some rubber bands, dropped them and started laying out paper clips in a straight line.

"Think about it Mare," he implored. "You do realize that except for the last few days you have been nothing but kind and complimentary." _Even to_ _me._

"Stan told me you completed your recertification early. Ever since we've been partners I've had to trick you into going. You bought me lunch!" he exclaimed. Mary winced at the sound. "You bought Abigail lunch! You brought me coffee and didn't ask me to pay. You poured coffee for Stan...in a cup." Marshall could easily imagine Mary pouring coffee in Stan's lap.

"Don't you have anything else to do besides keep track of me?" Mary asked calmly.

That's just it, Marshall thought. She asked. She didn't yell, she didn't insult me, much, she didn't whine or complain, she just flat out asked. Marshall could see Stan watching.

Mary finally turned her attention to Marshall. "For God's sake Marshall. I'm trying to be a better friend, a better partner. Do you honestly want me to belittle you and make fun of your hobbies, your dates?" she asked. "If that's the case, you're the one who needs to see Finkel."

Marshall couldn't help it. This was so unlike Mary. He was beyond upset, beyond worried. "Mary," he shouted, exasperated. "Can't you see what's happening?"

"You mean besides the fact that we've switched?" Seeing his puzzled look, she elaborated. "I'm the calm rational one and you're the one shouting and being an idiot."

"Hmm?" Marshall hesitated. "You realize this is the second time today you admitted being an idiot."

She shrugged and turned away. "Whatever."

Anger he could deal with. Apathy, not so much. "C'mon Mare. Get your stuff. We're going out. We'll have a couple of drinks and discuss this like adults."

When she didn't move, Marshall grabbed her elbow and jiggled it. "C'mon. Free booze."

Mary grumbled, "I don't want to go out, Marshall." _Hmph. She doesn't want to be seen with me. It would ruin her reputation at the Pagoda._

"Okay, we'll go to my place. I have whiskey. A new bottle."

Mary looked up at him through narrowed eyes. Her friend wanted to 'talk.' Her friend wanted her to drink his booze. Her friend had an agenda. She knew they needed to talk about their partnership. And he wanted to talk about her.

"Ribs?" If he was so desperate to talk to her, maybe she could get ribs too.

"We'll pick some up. Okay?" he implored. She nodded, and Marshall breathed a sigh of relief.

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_Why did I agree to come to Marshall's? Oh yeah, ribs._

They had stopped at Mary's favorite rib joint and Marshall got a triple order. He had to arm wrestle her to keep her from paying. As he thwarted her attempt to hand the cashier her credit card he grunted, "See, see. This is why we need to talk. This isn't you, Mare."

Mary threw herself onto Marshall's couch, arms crossed. She shouldn't be here. This wasn't a good idea. What would Abigail think if she found her here? Her concern for Marshall's girlfriend disappeared when he waved a plateful of ribs under her nose. She followed the aroma to the kitchen where two glasses, a bottle of whiskey and some slaw waited.

He poured the whiskey, and handed her one. He clinked his glass with hers. "To partners."

"I can drink to that," Mary agreed. She still had her jacket on, but she had relaxed against the back of the chair.

"Mare," he implored. "You haven't been acting like yourself. You've been," he searched for a word that wouldn't offend but would let her know he noticed. "You've been different. Acting out of character."

Mary leaned forward and skewered him with a squint. "Did it ever occur to you that what's in character for me hasn't worked for me?"

Marshall thought about that. Mary had been, well Mary for as long as he'd known her. He tried to get her to turn her unique spidey sense on herself years ago. As far as he knew, she never did. Until now.

Three orders of ribs was almost enough. Mary let out a belch, and promptly apologized. Marshall gave her an odd look as he poured himself another glass. He was already a glass or two ahead of her but he needed to fortify himself for what came next.

"See, see there." He cocked his head and frowned. "Hear that, hear what you just said? You apologized for a perfectly natural bodily function that you never apologized for as long as I've known you."

"Are you saying I burp and go?" Mary twitted.

That struck Marshall as funny and he giggled. His high pitched laugh started Mary sniggering.

"You sound like a girl," Mary accused.

"Maybe then you'd finally like me," Marshall retorted, snuffling into his drink.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked as she grabbed the bottle and poured for both of them.

Finally, the topic he wanted to talk about. "What about the gym, last Sunday?"

"What about it?" Mary's eyes narrowed. Had someone seen her with Roxanne?

"Abigail saw you leaving the handicapped stall in the locker room. She said there was another woman in the stall with you."

"Yeah, so? Since when is sharing a stall a felony?" she snorted. "I didn't know the detective was keeping tabs on me." Swirling her drink, she looked at Marshall. "Maybe Abigail is interested in me." She winked and grinned.

"Mare," he blurted, "I saw you outside the Pagoda, kissing the beejessus out of that blonde."

"You saw me with Dani?" she asked, taking a gulp of whiskey nervously. She knew he'd seen her. She never thought he would mention it.

"I did," Marshall looked straight at her, nodded and pursed his lips primly.

Looking at him out of the corner of her eyes she asked, "What did you think?" Mary knew watching two women 'perform' was a popular theme in porno movies. She wondered if that's what it took to wind Marshall up. He was always so calm, so asexual around her. Well except for that time at Trina's slut fest aka bridal shower. She never let Brandi choose her clothes again. Marshall, her best friend, couldn't look at her in that black sequin dress.

Marshall looked down at his half full glass. "It was hot," he mumbled. _Did I say that out loud?_

"Gotcha going, huh?"

"Cuming and going," Marshall muttered.

"What if I told you Dani is a guy?" She cocked her head waiting for his reaction.

"What?" Marshall reared back, not believing. "Why would a guy dress like that? She er.. he has some legs."

"Yeah, he does. Shaving must be a bitch." She smiled over her glass. "Dani identifies as a girl and is planning a sex change operation."

That was more than he wanted to know. "So what were you doing? Showing him the ropes? What it's like to be a woman?"

Marshall finished his drink in one gulp and poured another. Mary grabbed the bottle and did the same. He waited till she chugged half of it before asking "Why would you go out with him? Her?" he asked befuddled. "Was sex with Faber that bad?"

Chugging the rest of her drink, Mary gasped. "Sex with Faber was crappy sex. "

"Glad to hear it," Marshall grumped. "Then why did you go with him?"

Mary had to think. Why had she gone with him? Oh yeah.

Mary leaned across the table. She'd taken her jacket off with the second batch of ribs. Her tank top strained as her breasts pushed against the table top. Marshall stared. He was just drunk enough to hear the truth.

Mary rapped on the table to get his attention. "Marshall, Faber is disposable. He doesn't mean anything. If I screwed up what was between him and me, it doesn't matter." Thinking she had explained perfectly, Mary nodded, sat back and took another sip.

"So you'd rather have crappy disposable sex than real mind blowing love making?" he asked sulkily.

"I dunno. I never had mind blowing sex, ah. . . love making," she confessed. "Plain old sex is pretty good. Of course there have been a few nights" she mused, "when my vibrator was pretty good too."

"Aargh," Marshall squealed, and put his hands to his ears. "I didn't need to know that."

Mary hooked one elbow over her chair back, swirled the whiskey in her glass and sniffed. "You asked, Nancy."

Marshall put his head down on the table mumbling quietly. The whiskey was starting to hit. "I'll never get that out of my dreams."

He wasn't quiet enough. Mary heard him. "You dream about me?" she smirked. "Must be nightmares."

"Sometimes they're nightmares," he reported to the table top. "Times when you get shot and I couldn't save you. I dream of you every night. I've tried sleeping pills, whiskey, staying awake. Nothing works." He suddenly sat up straight. "Please tell me I didn't say that out loud."

"Marshall. Marshall," she said softly. "What would you say if I told you I had dreams about you too?"

"You do?" he hiccupped.

"Yeah," she breathed her reply. She couldn't tell him that in her dream she was calling him to rescue her from transvestites.

"What kind of dreams do you have, Mare?" He looked at her blearily. If he was in his right mind, he wouldn't ask. Tonight, he wasn't in his right mind. "Have you ever dreamt of us," he cleared his throat "together?"

"I will now," she muttered.

"In my dreams," she stalled trying to decide what was safe to tell him, "I woke myself up because I was calling your name."

"You were?"

"Yup." She nodded affirmatively. The whiskey allowed her to admit it. She hated needing anyone – even in her dreams, but the whiskey had loosened her tongue.

Mary tried to stand up. She leaned forward, her arms on the table. All he could see were her lips, and her breasts. He told himself he was only leaning toward her to help her rise, but to Mary it looked as if he was getting ready to kiss her.

Realizing she was still seated, despite her efforts, she gripped the table and pushed. Instead of the edge of the table she knocked the plate of bones. Greasy rib remains sailed into the air. Mary ducked, but slipped and ended up on the floor.

"I think you've had enough to drink, Mare." He walked over to her, offering her a hand up. "You okay? Hurt anywhere?"

Lying flat on her back, Mary blinked. "Did you know" she asked in a dreamy voice, "that there's a lariat on your kitchen light?"

Confused, Marshall tried to remember what his ceiling lights looked like. Right now he didn't care. "No. But your backs going to hurt like hell if you try sleeping there," Marshall warned.

Mary closed her eyes as Marshall bent down. She opened them and grabbed his hand. Stepping forward, his foot hit a glob of grease. Mary saw him start to go down, but her whiskey soaked reflexes couldn't roll her out of his way. He caught himself on his hands and knees, straddling Mary. This also put his face right above hers. "This is awkward," he said with his usual flat delivery.

Marshall saw the fear in her eyes and tried to back off. Mary pushed on his chest. "Get off!" Mary hoarsely whispered. The fall had knocked the wind out of both of them. Mary knew Marshall didn't want this, didn't want her.

"I'm trying." Marshall contended. "Don't push."

"Okay, okay. Just move." She panted.

Finally gaining his feet, Marshall looked down at Mary. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing heavily. _Was it just from the fall? Or was being that close to a man what upset her? _He brought the chair over. "Here, use the chair to get up."

"In a minute," she replied.

Minute over, she grabbed the chair and got to her knees. Leaning over the seat brought her hair over her face. Blowing the errant strands, she grabbed both sides of the seat. Standing she held onto the back of the chair as her entire body wobbled.

Marshall was there in an instant, supporting her. This time he made sure not to step in the grease.

Grabbing Mary's elbow, he led her to the couch, helped her lie down and went to fetch a glass of water. By the time he returned Mary was asleep. He put the water and a couple of aspirin on the coffee table and went to get a blanket for his partner.

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	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Girls Will Be Girls – Chap 16

Saturday morning

Mary slowly came awake. She recognized the pounding in her head. Opening her eyes a tiny bit, she noticed something wrong with the ceiling. _How could there be something wrong with a ceiling? _

The sun was shining on the wrong spot. Had she slept with her head at the foot of the bed? The windows in her bedroom couldn't move. She decided to use the Braille method. Opening her eyes was too painful. She reached above her head. Hmm. Fabric. Her eyes flew open. What in the hell was she doing on Marshall's couch?

Daring a glimpse, Mary spotted a glass and some tablets. _Thanks Doofus._ Downing the aspirin, Mary groaned and rose. _I may rise but I ain't gonna shine. _She folded the blanket, grabbed her jacket, and listened. All quiet on the kitchen front. Marshall must be sleeping it off. Deciding to let him sleep, she found a shopping list pad and wrote a quick thank you.

Aviator sunglasses cover a multitude of sins, she decided as she got in the Probe to drive home.

After Marshall had missed dance class, again, Abigail had come to his place hoping he'd feel guilty enough to make her breakfast. As she neared his house, she thought she saw Mary's car. When she saw a leather jacketed blonde walking from Marshall's front door, she knew.

_There has to be an explanation. _ Abigail got out her cell. When her first try at Marshall's number went to voicemail, she tried again. And again. Third time really is the charm because she finally got him to answer.

Somebody answered, but Abigail couldn't understand what they said. "Marshall?" she asked.

After a loud burp hiccup noise, Marshall responded, "Abigail?"

"You missed our dance class last night."

"Aw shit." Abigail examined her phone surprised by the crude reply.

Marshall realized too late what he said. "Sorry, Abigail. Sorry." He wiped his hand over his face. His teeth felt as if they were wearing furry sweaters. "I'm really sorry I missed class again."

"I'm sure you had something more important to do," she jabbed sarcastically.

"Huh?" Marshall's brain was still offline.

"Let me be candid. I am parked outside your place. I just saw Mary, your 'partner' Mary." Marshall seemed particularly dense this morning and needed the repetition. "leaving your place."

"Really?" he asked in a squeaky voice. "I thought she was still here."

"Marshall?" His comments didn't seem to be directed to her.

"Yeah."

"The next sound you here will be me, at your front door." The detective was determined to get to the bottom of the situation. The truth. Even if it meant Marshall wasn't the man she thought he was. He didn't seem like a cheater. She shouldn't be concerned, should she? Mary preferred women. Right?

Marshall frowned as he looked at his phone. Rubbing his face, and yawning, Marshall downed a glass of water and aspirin. He was a bit fuzzy about what exactly happened last night. He had tried to get Mary to open up about her change in sexual preference, but if she had, he couldn't remember what she said.

The hot water pipes were knocking against each other again. He blew out a breath and closed his eyes. The noise stopped. The door bell rang.

Marshall rolled out of bed with a groan. He ambled to the door without thinking to don a shirt, or check that his pajama bottoms were securely tied. He opened the door with a flourish. "Abigail." He drew his head back and greeted her with a dopey smile. "Come in. Come in." He escorted her to the couch.

Abigail eyed him critically. "Are you drunk, Marshall?"

Nodding his head in the affirmative, he realized what he was doing and changed it. "No. I had a bit to drink last night. My partner. . . ."

Marshall realized his mistake. Mary wouldn't want him to talk to Abigail about her. But Abigail already knew, right? She had seen Mary at the Pagoda, and then at the gym. "Umm. Mary has made some changes in her life recently." Abigail snorted. Marshall stared.

"I took your concerns about Mary's lifestyle choices seriously," Marshall pontificated. "Last night we addressed them." He closed his eyes and nodded solemnly. At least he thought they had.

"So," she drew the word out, drawing circles on the coffee table. "She told you about her dates with women?"

"Uh, no." Marshall sat on the couch. Abigail moved to the easy chair.

"Not exactly." Marshall wiped his fingers over his eyes. "Right now, I don't remember a lot." Hand in front of his mouth he muttered. "She dreams about me."

"What's that?" Abigail asked.

"She fell." Marshall volunteered a bit too loudly. "There was grease on the kitchen floor and she slipped."

"Is she okay?" Abigail expressed concern.

"She hit her head. I, uh .. I checked. She didn't seem to have a concussion but I asked her to stay for a while. She fell asleep." Looking up he saw Abigail's skeptical expression and added, "On the couch."

Abigail sighed and looked at her disheveled boyfriend. One of the things that attracted her to the blue eyed marshal was his honesty. It wasn't that he was an open book. She figured his job entailed keeping secrets. But when he told her something, it was the truth. Everyone has their personal blind spots. She suspected Mary was his.

"As her partner, you would know if she was a lesbian."

Marshall nodded, several times, enjoying the sensation of up followed by down. "Of course." That didn't seem to convince Abigail.

"You think all those rumors about her cowboys, the way she flirts with you, were just to provide cover for her lifestyle?"

"Wait. What? Mary does not flirt with me," he recited slowly, carefully enunciating.

"Look Marshall. We haven't known each other very long, but figuring out people is what I do. It seems to me, based on my observations that Mary cares for you."

"Abigail!" Marshall shook his head. "We're partners. Of course we care for each other. Mary's saved my bacon too many times to count."

Abigail ducked her head. "I think she cares more than the job requires."

"Mary sees me as her partner," he insisted. "Someone who can help her do her job. Someone who watches her back. That's all. I know my partner."

"You mean you've seen her staring daggers at me?" Abigail had sensed Mary's hostility from the start. True she had acted more amiable that last couple of times, but Abigail sensed it too considerable effort on Mary's part.

"Pphhtt. That? That's just Mary. She looks at everyone that way," he asserted. "She bought you lunch!" he declared as if that made Abigail and Mary BFFs.

"Just because she can be polite doesn't mean she likes me. She dislikes me because I'm with you. I've seen the way she looks at you when we're together. She doesn't like seeing us together. You're her partner and she's used to it being just the two of you."

Marshall sat back, stunned. Abigail's assertion was outrageous, unbelievable. Mary never considered him boyfriend material. She teased him. The only time he had taken her to a cultural event she had whined for days afterwards. They had no interesting in common. She punched him. At least she used to. Wasn't that what fifth grade boys did to the girls they liked? He knew he used to be the girl in their partnership.

"You're the one who saw Mary at the Pagoda, and then in the gym, right?" Marshall's head drooped forward. He put his knees on his elbows. "It seems she's not interested in any man and she's certainly not interested in me."

Why would Abigail think that Mary cared for him? Thinking she must be joking, Marshall gave her a sly smile. "Have you been drinking?"

"No, Marshall," she replied soberly. "It's Saturday morning, and I have not been drinking. I was thinking we could breakfast together, but now I'm not so sure. You need time to sober up and time to think about us. You need to think about your partner. If she does prefer women now maybe not having you drove her to that. Maybe it was the changes in your life that affected her."

Marshall put his elbow on his knees, holding his head up, trying to make sense of what Abigail was saying. All he was sure of was that she said he needed time. He could agree with that. He could use a shower, breath mints and a shave too.

"Look Marshall. I know what I saw, but there could be another explanation. Maybe it has something to do with the job, like a protected witness or something."

Calmly slowly, Marshall asked, "Why would you think that?"

"Really Marshall? I'm a detective. I have a pretty good idea what you do. You are a puzzle I've barely begun to work." Abigail shrugged. "Mary is an interesting puzzle too," Abigail confessed. "I've never met anyone like her."

That made Marshall smile. His Mary was one of a kind. Last night she had pushed him away. For once he thought it was nothing personal. He was the wrong gender. Right? What about Epps then? Why would she have sex with him? And then there was Faber. Despite what Abigail had seen, he found it difficult to believe Mary would choose an intimate relationship with a woman. He almost giggled as he imagined Mary and her girlfriend fighting over bathroom time.

Then there was Dershowitz. Mary told him that Bobbi had called her hot. She didn't believe it, at least not then. Yet, she had kept in touch with Bobbi, had his phone number in Chicago and got on a plane to spend a weekend with him. They must have done more than talk about Mike Washington and the Chicago goons.

For years he'd watched men, all kinds of men lust after her. She ignored them. Was she really oblivious to the effect she had on their male witnesses, other law enforcement officers and even the baristas at the coffee place? Maybe she really didn't care because she didn't care for men. Her disdain for the male of the species came from being abandoned by her father, the most important man in her young life.

Abigail sat quietly watching Marshall. She knew her observations, the facts, and his history with Mary were whirling around his brain at 90 mph. "Marshall." His upper body jerked against the couch at the sound.

Marshall turned his head and focused on her for the first time in many minutes. "I'm not fit company right now Abigail. I need a shower, and some time. How about lunch?"

"Sorry Marshall." She gave him a sad smile. "I have an appointment. You know how hard it can be to fit personal upkeep into a detective's schedule." She stood and put her hand on his bare shoulder. "Take the time to figure out what you want." Marshall heard her say "Who you want." She patted Marshall's shoulder in a bittersweet farewell. He never thought he would have to choose between two attractive women.

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Mary drove home without hitting anyone or anything, drank two glasses of water, went to bed and slept like the dead.

It was late afternoon when she became conscious. She rolled over and scrutinized her surroundings. Her own bedroom. Her own things. Her laundry that was overflowing the hamper. She thought about a shower and maybe some toast. But that took energy she didn't have. It's Saturday. She rolled over for more shuteye.

Minutes later, her cell phone rang. She put a pillow over her head. She was drifting off when it rang again. Ignoring every WITSEC protocol, she turned it off and went back to sleep.

Thump, thump, thump. What in the world was that thumping? Putting the pillow under her head, Mary thought she heard someone calling her name. Rolling over, she got her feet on the floor and shuffled down the hall. The thumping sound got louder. At her front door, she stopped, looking down to make sure she was covered, if not exactly dressed.

Without checking the peep hole, she unlocked the door and grabbed the handle. Her partner stood in the doorway. "What do you want Marshall?" Mary squinted and assessed Marshall. His hair hung in his face. He hadn't shaved. He was puffing as if he'd just run a 10K. He looked kinda just out of bed sexy. _Whoa! Where did that come from? _

"Marshall? What's going on?" she asked as he stepped into her home. As soon as the door was closed he turned on her, angry, anxious.

"They gave us these things for a reason," he snapped, waving his blackberry at her. "If you answered your damn phone, you would know." He stepped inside and ran his hand through his already messy hair. "I thought someone kidnapped you. Again."

Mary lowered her head looking sheepish. "Sorry. I turned off my phone. Yeah, yeah, I know better." She looked at him. "It won't happen again," she promised sincerely.

"Somebody shot Epps." She stared at him, her mouth open, asking for details without saying a word. "He's in surgery at UNM."

"Hmph," she snorted. "They hit him someplace non life threatening, like his head?"

Ignoring her jibe at the injured man, Marshall declared, "Stan wants us to come in. If they saw us with Epps, we might be next."

"Makes sense. Give me a minute. These aren't exactly my work clothes."

Ten minutes later they were on the road, heading for the Sunshine Building.

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	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Girls Will Be Girls – Chapter 17

Sunday afternoon

"Ugh," Mary whined. "I need a shower."

Marshall concentrated on driving. "Yes, you do Sunshine." Although in the past Stan had said Mary smelled good that wasn't true today. Along with minty fresh mouthwash scent, Marshall could smell sweat and whiskey. Or maybe was that him?

Mary turned her head so Marshall wouldn't see her smile. He hadn't called her Sunshine in a long time. Marshall glanced at his partner in the passenger seat. The late afternoon sun created a halo from her tousled blonde hair. He snorted. The only way Mary could be an angel was as an avenging angel. That he could see.

Stan was waiting for them at the security gate. "Get in here you two. What took you so long? Whoever shot Epps could be after you next."

"What do you know?" Marshall asked, as they headed to their desks. Stan stood between the desks, addressing them both.

"Pretty much just what I told you. Epps is in surgery at UNM. He was at an Isotopes game and was shot in the parking lot after the game. So far, no one saw the shooter. No one else was hurt."

"PD must have this. Who's handling the case?" Mary hoped it wasn't Abigail. If it was, things could get complicated.

Stan grimaced and rubbed the side of his forehead. "I don't know. Let me make a few calls."

Mary gravitated to the coffee pot, eyeing her partner over her shoulder. "Get you a cup?"

_Uh oh, Mary is still polite_. Not wanting to ruffle the feathers of the dove of peace, he said "Sure. Thanks."

Mary gently placed the full cup on his desk, then took a sip of hers and placed it next to his. She rolled her chair to his desk so she could look over his shoulder. "Running a threat assessment on Epps. Good. Include the guys he pointed out in the photos, anyone associated with them and the Chicago types from Bobbi's report."

"Uh, sure. Give me the names from Bobbi."

Back at her desk, Mary located Bobbi's file. Returning to her spot at Marshall's desk she said, "Tell me when you're ready." Mary supplied the names. Marshall verified their current locations and began checking surveillance cams, flight manifests, train and bus ticket purchases. While his fingers did the walking Mary sat back and tried to connect the dots.

Had Epps been seen with her and Marshall? Or entering the Sunshine Building? What if Epps was shot because he'd been looking into the same things that got Officer Thomas killed? It was possible the shooting was unrelated to their investigation. Possible, but not likely. In any case, they couldn't take the chance.

Staring at his screen as the facial recognition program ran, Marshall muttered. "This isn't good."

Waiting for ABQPD to return his call, Stan took the rest of the case file from Mary's desk. He'd been pacing and reading and keeping an eye on his two Inspectors. "Whatcha got?"

Marshall leaned back in his chair, and then turned his screen so they could see. "Of the twelve names on Bobbi's list, six of them are in town. Airport cams show them arriving one by one in the past two days. I'm checking passenger lists. Once I have the names, I'll check hotels."

Mary asked, "You think one of them shot Epps? Maybe somebody Epps crossed in Chicago spotted him and decided to even the score?" The quicker they resolved Epps shooting the sooner they could get back out to do their jobs and nail Mike Washington. But if the Chicago crowd was in town, why was Washington still alive, but Epps in surgery. It didn't make sense. Mary put that question aside, focusing on the shooting, and their own safety. "Are there any surveillance cams at the ball park?"

"Yes," Marshall replied. "ABQPD should have the footage, but he was shot leaving the stadium. It would have to be on the cameras in the parking lot."

"Everyone's got a camera in their pocket these days." Mary had her phone to her ear. "Detective Lewis please," she asked politely, then waited. "Inspector Mary Shannon, Marshals Service. Thank you."

ABQPD had returned Stan's call. Detective Roxanne Lewis was in charge of the Epps shooting. Mary wanted to ask Roxanne why she was given the case. Did someone suspect her? At least now they'd have a legitimate reason to meet. Roxanne said she'd send the photos the PD had from the ball park.

When Marshall heard Mary end the call, he stopped typing. "Isn't that Ramirez' partner? The detective who was murdered by his wife when she found out he was gay? I wouldn't be surprised if she shot Epps herself." _The idea certainly occurred to me._ When no one responded, Marshall went back to work.

"Hey, Stan," Mary asked. "Is there anyone who could have killed Officer Thomas that had contact with Epps? If there's video of Thomas' shooting and it was ABQPD who shot him, it would have to be someone behind Thomas during the raid."

Rummaging through the file, Mary pulled out one page. "This is the roll call from the day Thomas was killed. That will tell us who was on duty. The patrol car logs should match. The shooter would have been removed from the roll, or was never on in the first place. But if we compare the roll to the patrol car logs and the after action report. . . " her voice trailed off thoughtfully.

"Unless the shooter wasn't PD." Stan stood in front of his Inspectors' desk. "Still, it's a start. See what you can find."

Mary checked the roll and the patrol car logs against the action reports. She looked for photos of officers not on the roll or the patrol car logs but on the action report. She found photos of those officers, and printed them. Stan had been busy selecting and printing out the clearest photos from the ball park. That task completed he grabbed the file and started pacing again.

He stopped when he saw Marshall sit back. "Let's take what we've got into the conference room. We can spread it out and see how the pieces fit."

They spread the photos on the table. "It's like a giant Where's Waldo, except we don't know what Waldo looks like," Mary noted.

"It's more like Memory. We've got to match faces in different photos," Marshall said.

"Look," Mary said, pointing. "This guy is at the shooting of Thomas, and on the baseball team with Thomas and Epps."

"And he's in this picture from the water department newsletter. Stan, did the agency tell you how many newsletters are printed and where they are distributed."

"Uh, yeah. Lucky for us, they are only hard copy. No email distributions. Unlucky for us, just about every city agency gets copies. Including ABQPD."

"So what do we do now? Go into protected custody?" she joked.

"No, but it makes sense to keep a low profile for a few days. Let's get a name for this guy."

Marshall examined the photos of the ABQPD officers. "I don't see anyone who looks like that guy."

"Wait," Mary prompted. "Lose the mustache, add a rug."

"I think we've got a match," Marshall affirmed.

"Officer Ben Appelton. Been with ABQPD almost 2 years. Former employer..." she put down the personnel sheet and looked from Marshall to Stan "Chicago PD. He must have recognized Epps."

"He arrived in Albuquerque just after Mike Washington," Marshall added.

Stan examined the information sheet on Appleton. "Inspectors, I think we have a suspect."

"I'll call Detective Lewis," Mary said.

Marshall looked alarmed. "Should you do that? What evidence can you give her?"

"All the photos we used to find this guy are either in PD's possession or available to the general public. Chill, Doofus. I got this."

Stan nodded and Mary went to her desk to warn Roxanne. Marshall and Stan stayed in the conference room, matching personnel sheets with photos. Two other officers appeared in multiple photos. One could be seen in a still from Epps shooting.

Glad Roxanne knew who to look out for, she told Marshall. "We need to show these to Epps. If he's out of surgery and can talk, we need him to confirm what we found. He should know Appelton, or at least know of him."

"Mary," Stan protested, "It's dangerous for you and Marshall to go be seen in public. We don't know where these guys are. They could be tracking you two. You could endanger Epps,"

"Our lives are in danger every day Stan. I think we'll be ok if we make a few wardrobe changes," she pursed her lips and smiled.

_Uh oh. Marshall thought. This can't be good._

"Where's that baseball cap?" she muttered pawing through her bottom drawer.

A few minutes later, Marshall was wearing his badge on a chain under a long burgundy Diamondbacks shirt. He'd changed his boots for running shoes. Mary had her hair tucked completely under the baseball cap and wore a dark blue Arizona wildcats shirt with the top four buttons undone. A grey sweatshirt was tied around her waist as she pushed Marshall into a chair.

"Where did you get the shirts?" Stan asked. Mary gave him a hard look and said "Do you really want to know."

Looking to the side, Stan flexed his fingers nervously. "Uh No? I suppose not."

"Don't worry. I'll put them back," she responded. "We're just borrowing them for a few hours."

Advancing on Marshall she ordered, "Sit, lemme do your hair." She muttered, as she put both hands on Marshall's shoulders and pushed him into his chair. With the top four buttons open, two of the best things about Mary were directly in line with his nose. Distracted, he followed her directions. She had hair pins in her mouth and a can of hairspray in her hand.

"Wait, wait," Marshall panicked. "What are you doing?" Marshall wasn't about to let Maniac Mary attack his crowning glory. It took a lot of time to get his hair just right.

"Relax , Nancy." She started combing his hair. "Nothing permanent. It's just for a few hours and hey," she stepped in front of him gesturing with the comb, "it could save your life."

Stan had to admit, Marshall didn't look like Marshall with his hair combed over his forehead. The running shoes made him a bit shorter. "Slouch," Stan told him. "Don't stand like a lawman. Relax, lower your shoulders and just . . . .'

"Be the river," Mary piped up. Marshall growled at her in reply. It wasn't fair. It was easy for Mary. Except when she was threatening life and limb she didn't have the gravitas of a lawman.

Marshall looked at Mary with distaste. She was chewing way too much gum with her mouth open. "C'mon," she hooked her arm through Marshall's. "We're a couple of baseball fans going to visit another fan. Stan, do you know if there's a security detail on Epps?

"No. There wasn't one mentioned when I called. That could change."

By the time they got to the hospital, Epps was out of recovery and in a room. Stan had called ahead so their names were all they needed to get Epps' room number. Entering his room they saw the equipment and wires before seeing the man. Mary flashed back to Marshall, saving his own life with a tube from the car's window wash tank. Marshall remembered seeing Mary, unconscious, not breathing, being trundled into surgery, her tank top marked with a huge circle of red, like a target.

Epps had his eyes closed, but they flashed open when he heard them enter the room.

"Relax, Epps. It's Mary and Marshall," she said softly. "We want to find who shot you. Are you up to answering a few questions?"

Epps doctor had said the bullet hadn't hit any major organs, and the surgery had gone well. Epps was on pain meds and antibiotics, but the doc said he should be awake and aware enough to talk.

Epps slowly turned his head. "Well if it isn't the gruesome twosome."

Walking next to his bed, Mary entreated. "Help us catch who shot you. Did you see him?"

"No, I was too busy catching a bullet to see the shooter," he grunted. A few hours without speaking made his voice gravely. "Before I got shot I saw Squeaky."

"Smithers?" Mary remembered that was one of the guys Epps had identified in the photos.

"Yeah."

"Is he a hitman?" Marshall asked. He recalled Epps saying the guy was a gofer.

"I didn't think so, but I could be wrong." Epps replied. "Dead wrong."

Mary leaned closer. "Did you see any of these guys? Take your time."

Mary shuffled through the photos one by one. From his vantage point Marshall saw Epps paying more attention to Mary's cleavage than the pictures.

"Hey," he interrupted. "We're trying to get the guys who shot you. I'm sure they want to finish the job. Pay attention."

Mary gave Marshall a questioning look. He looked at her cleavage, then at Epps. He saw in her eyes the moment she made the connection and straightened.

Epps gave Marshall a grin. Marshall grabbed the photos from Mary. "Here," he said. "Look at them."

"It's the pain killers," he told Marshall.

"Sure it is. Now look at the pictures," Marshall ordered.

Chastened, Epps poured over the photos, spending time with each.

After a few minutes, Epps had four photos in his hand. "This guy is from Chicago. I never knew his name but he ran with Mastrano. I've seen this guy with Smithers before. I think his name is Beefson, Bielson? He was part of Jefferson's operation. And this guy," he held out the last photo, "was at the ball park tonight. I saw him in the stands and recognized him. I think he recognized me too. If you find him, check his hands for gunshot residue. I can't remember anything from before I was shot, and damn little after."

Epps seemed to be tiring. He started talking quieter. Mary got closer to hear him. When she did she saw his free hand inching toward her breast and his eyes riveted to her breasts. Mary retreated. "If you weren't already in a hospital, I would put you there," she threatened as she stormed out of the room.

Marshall hung back and added his own threat. "You asshole. That was incredibly stupid. She's trying to help you and you try to cop a feel. Try it again and I'll let her beat you to a pulp." Marshall smiled. "I'll hold you down for her."

Epps wasn't impressed, but Marshall glared at him till he looked away. "Understand?"

"Yeah," Epps groaned.

Marshall was offended on Mary's behalf. "Asshole," he muttered as he caught up with his partner.

"Tell me something I don't know," Mary responded.

"You tell me something. How do you put up with guys like that? The disrespect, the leering. . .they give all men a bad name."

Marshall decided to make another attempt at discussing sexuality, no matter how oblique. "Remember when I called you to meet me at a bar when we were investigating Detective Lewis' partner's death?"

"Yeah." She remembered Ramirez's CI. Nice looking guy. They sat in a booth across from Cooper. Marshall had put his arm around her. She called him on his possessive display after they left the bar. He said he was declaring his heterosexuality. Just in case.

Marshall had to ask. "How did you feel in that place?" As he remembered, Mary was all business, her usual brusque self.

She paused, considering. "Good. It was nice to be able to sit knowing I wouldn't be pestered. I remember thinking it would be a good place to go when I just want a drink. A place I could count on being left alone."

"Did you ever go back?"

"No," she shrugged. "I felt I would be, y'know, intruding."

Mary narrowed her eyes and peered at Marshall through the slits. "Where have you been, doofus? Under a rock? Epps is typical, normal even. Even in the marshals service the old boys club exists. You heard Epps before – women have no place on the force, and they should never be partnered with a man." She grimaced and looked at her feet. "Sometimes I think he's got the right idea."

_Oh. My. God. Mary wants to be partnered with a woman._

They had reached the truck when Marshall asked "Would you prefer to be partnered with a woman?" He watched her reaction out of the corner of his eye. He had to know.

Mary looked at him, her mouth pinched and questioning, her eyes opened wide. "What? No! We have different skills. We work together and save each other's butts." Thinking of her work with Roxanne, Mary lowered her voice, changing her adamant tone. "I suppose I could work with a woman partner, but I don't want to." She gave him a vulpine smile. "I just got you trained."

Seeing the hurt flash across his face, Mary backtracked. "Marshall, you are an excellent Inspector. You are smart, brave and a good shot. You know your witnesses and they know they can trust you. I trust you. You're the only one, man or woman, I trust. I'm sorry if I've said or done anything that makes you think otherwise."

When he didn't reply, didn't even look at her, she took his arm and finished softly, "You're my partner."

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	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***

Girls Will Be Girls – Chap 18

Sunday night

It was late when Mary and Marshall returned to the Sunshine Building. Stan was waiting for them.

"Homeland Security came through. They traced Washington's accounts from the Chicago mob to the Mexican cartels. I put them onto the native jewelry shops and sent them what we had found. Once they examine that lead, they'll see how it fits. Should end up implicating both Talltrees and Washington."

"If I wasn't so damn tired, I'd go to Mike's place and kick his ass," Mary pledged. She sat heavily in her desk chair and leaned back, letting her hair fall free for the first time in hours.

"Don't worry about him," Stan counseled. "Warrants have been issued. DoJ is unhappy, but even they can see that Washington was never going to be a credible witness. The off shore bank transactions Homeland Security found should strengthen their case. Even without Washington's testimony, they've got a good shot of getting those SOBs once and for all."

Marshall listened to Stan while he ran his hands, and finally a comb through his hair. It bugged him. He wanted his hair back to normal. Mary had tossed her baseball cap when she came through the gate. They both sat, and absorbed what Stan had to say.

"I also gave the FBI the names of our visitors from Chicago. They are seeking warrants for their financial records even as we speak. They are all being sought as persons of interest and with the information I gave them they should be under arrest tomorrow."

"Unless the FBI drops the ball, again," Mary sulked.

"What about Epps? Are we still on someone's firing line?" Marshall asked. "Was it the guys from Chicago who put a hit on him and maybe on us?"

"That," Stan admitted, "I can't say. What did Epps tell you?"

Mary dug into her messenger bag and brought out the photos Epps has selected. Trying to ignore his frustrating hair, he sat and began running the facial recognition program.

"I don't recognize any of them," Stan confessed. "We have to assume they are after you and Marshall." Stan handed the photos back to Mary. Stan looked Mary in the eye. "Stay here tonight. That's an order." He walked away before she could contradict him.

Seeing Stan stand firm on his order, and having ordered many a witness to do the same, Mary gave in. "I'm done," she croaked. She crossed her arms and pillowed her head on them, watching her partner, still working.

"Get some rest," Stan recommended. "You've done good work today, Inspector."

Mary yawned. "So this is like a sleepover, or a campout? If it's a sleepover are we going to paint each other's nails? Cause I'm out of nail polish. If we're camping, I want s'mores. It's only fair," she yawned again.

"I know for a fact this won't be the first time either of you have spent the night here. Just do whatever you did before," Stan advised.

Mary sniggered. "Really Stan? Do you want to know what Marshall and I did the last time we slept at the office together?"

Stan coughed. "You know what I mean. Let me check if they actually put blankets in the emergency supplies. If they did, you are in luck."

"Are you trying to say that I might get lucky tonight?" Mary was tired and her usual target, Marshall, was off limits. Since it was after working hours, Stan was fair game. She wondered if he bald spot would turn as red as his face.

Stan escaped to the emergency locker.

"Mare, if you're going to sleep here, get the lounge chairs from the balcony," Marshall suggested.

"Too cold. Too tired," Mary objected. "Have you ever tried to lift those things? I swear they're made of cast iron. They weigh a ton."

Sighing at her continued abuse of his good nature. "I'll bring them in as soon as this finishes."

"Marshall," Stan announced his return in a strangled whisper. Marshall hurried to give Stan a hand. The large cushions, are slipping out of Stan's hands. He's balancing a box on top of the pillows and dragging blankets. "Let me help you, Chief." Marshall grabbed the large box. It was heavier than it looked.

"An inflatable mattress?" Marshall read the label on the box. "Stan," he said cheerfully, "you are the man!" Marshall wasn't as happy about the size of the mattress, a full. Less width than two twin mattresses put together. They make it to the conference room, where Stan drops his load.

"Yeah. Didn't know it was in the emergency locker. Must be some new requirement." Stan dropped the cushions and blankets on the chairs in the conference room. "Sorry," he told Marshall. "There's only the one. Maybe Mary will let you flip a coin for it."

"I dunno Stan. She looks tired enough to sleep where she is." He gazed over at his partner's desk two thirds covered by her long hair. Her head was still resting on her arms, but her eyes were closed, and her breathing regular.

"Yeah," Stan sighed. "I'd be tempted to let sleeping dogs lie." Stan left the conference room. "I gotta get home before I'm asleep."

"I've got a couple more places I want to check." Marshall looked away from the screen and asked, "Should I send you what I find tonight? If I can identify the men Epps picked out, do you want me to send you that?"

Stan yawned. "Yes. Call me first though. I'll may actually sleep knowing you and Mary are safe here."

Marshall sat back down at his desk, watching his computer screen. He heard the elevator doors open and close. His empty stomach prompted him to recall that he hadn't eaten all of Marie's brownies. He retrieved the brownies and sat back. He felt guilty for not saving any for Mary, but he hadn't noticed they were gone till the last one was in his mouth. Even though Mary gave him the brownies, he feared retribution. Mouthwash. Yes, that would help.

After brushing his teeth and using the mouth was, Marshall returned to his desk. The facial recognition program showed no sign of finishing. _Might as well do something useful. _Marshall plugged in the mattress and watched it inflate under the conference room table. He arranged the blankets and cushions. _That's as good as it gets_.

Marshall did one last check for brownie crumbs then went to Mary's desk and lightly touched her shoulder. She cracked opened an eye and glared at him. He pointed to the conference room and pulled her up to follow. Mary eyed Marshall's handiwork. And pursed her lips.

Before she could think of any barbs, Marshall announced, "Your chamber of dreams awaits, Sunshine." A sleepy Mary gave him her "yeah, sure" look. Marshall responded, "Wasn't me," when she pointed to the mattress and blankets under the table. If Stan was around Mary would have kissed his shiny pate.

"Whatever," she yawned. "Thanks." Removing her jacket, she crawled under the table glad Stan had known when to bend the rules.

The building was quiet. The cleaning people had left hours before. The fan on Marshall's computer droned. Marshall stood and stretched. He grabbed his gym bag and went to change. Dressed in comfortable sweats, he went to see if he and Mary would both fit on the air mattress.

Peeking under the table he was struck by Mary's beauty. She was quiet, for once. Her features at rest, no worry lines, no anger or anxiety. His heart beat faster as he considered sleeping next to her – for warmth. Carefully, so as not to wake his volatile partner, Marshall appropriated the remaining blanket and cushions and eased onto the mattress.

It seemed as if he had just fallen asleep when he heard a whimper. In the dim lighting of the conference room, he could see Mary's face, shiny with tears. Her whimpers continued. Marshall knew waking her was risky. She wasn't armed, but she could lash out before she realized where she was. His heart couldn't let her continue to suffer, even in her dreams.

"Mary. Mary. Pssst. Mare. Wake up." He didn't get any closer, but he got louder. "Marshall Shannon!"

Mary's head reared back, bumping a table leg. "Ow. What the hell?"

"Mary."

"Marshall?" She craned her neck to see her partner. Marshall was up on his elbow. She'd know that mop of hair and blue eyes anywhere. _What's with the low ceiling?_

"We're in the conference room. Epps was shot and we are probably the next targets. You were having a bad dream." Marshall recited just the facts, hoping she was far enough out of her dream to understand what he was saying.

"Yeah." She put her head back down and rolled onto her back. She poked the mattress with her elbow. "What the hell is this?"

Marshall chuckled. "Stan found us an air mattress."

"Good thing I took my badge off," she muttered. Marshall nodded, acknowledging that pointed stars and inflatable mattresses don't mix.

"Want to talk about it?" He watched her carefully for any sign of distress.

"Talk about what?" she protested.

"This," he pointed to her wet cheeks.

Mary brought both hands to her face. "Oh God."

He waited to see if she would tell him. Maybe. She was tired and half asleep. _And pigs could fly._

"Last time I slept on the floor I was twelve. It was so damn cold." She shivered. "I never had enough blankets for Squish and I. We slept together to keep warm, but that winter it was so damn cold."

Marshall felt the pressure of his own tears. Tears for what his partner had suffered as a child. Tears for the woman who had turned her scars into strengths using a dogged will to succeed. Tears for his partner who still hurt every day. He knew she wouldn't have shared anything if she had been truly awake.

"C'mere," Marshall requested. "You can keep me warm, okay?"

Much to his surprise, Mary scooted next to him. He threw the blankets over them and patted a cushion into place. Mary lay on her side, her back to Marshall. Gingerly, he put his arm at her waist and spooned her. He relaxed when he felt her body soften into slumber. In a few minutes they were both sound asleep.

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Monday morning

Peeling one eye open, all he saw was blonde. Her head was tucked under his chin. They both lay still spooned together. Mary breathed in deeply, and Marshall froze. Then she snuggled against him, pushing her head under his chin and her bottom someplace it shouldn't be. Her eyes stayed closed and Marshall was sure she was smiling. He was ready to start the day, but he wouldn't begrudge his partner her rest. He prayed she stayed asleep till he could extricate his hand from her breast.

Marshall lay next to his partner for another hour. He recited the names of every Director and Head Chief of the Marshal Service for the past two centuries. He ran through the times tables twice. Once forward and once backward. Mary began to stir and he couldn't help but raise himself up to watch. He cataloged every sigh, and every stretch of her gradual return to consciousness. He was sure he'd see them in his dreams.

The overhead lights in the conference room flicked on, their harsh glare muted by the table. "Rise and shine Inspectors," Stan's voice rang out. He poked his head under the table. "I brought coffee and Danish."

"That's as good a reason as any to get up," Mary mumbled. Her tongue swiped her teeth. Yuk. When she tried to sit up, Marshall yelled a warning, but she bumped her head anyway. Marshall scooted out from under the table and put out his hand for her.

Mary gripped it, reminded once again of her lanky partner's strength and long reach. She pulled the blankets and some of the cushions with her. Standing, yawning and stretching, she asked, "Where do these go?" Just barely awake, she was determined to do the responsible thing.

"We'll get those later. Let's get breakfast," Marshall urged. "You know how you are without caffeine."

Standing and stretching, Mary rubbed her eyes like an errant child. Marshall felt himself melting into the floor. How could she look so beautiful first thing in the morning?

Mary grunted as she stretched, arms over her head, the bottom of her shirt revealing a trim abdomen, and a small round pink scar. Marshall eyes were glued to the spot that almost took her from him.

"What?"

"That's the scar," he gulped, "the scar from when you were shot?" Marshall nodded toward the small strip of skin.

"Yeah, wanna compare? See who's bigger, pinker, whatever?" Mary dared. She had other scars,older ones Marshall hadn't seen.

Marshall's memories of her shooting arrived without his consent. His partner gut shot. And where was he? Having coffee, pretending to be on a date. If Dershowitz hadn't been there, hadn't gotten the ambulance so quickly. . . . Her blood spattered body, rolling down the hospital corridor to surgery was burned into his memory. His breath hitched. "She's not breathing."

Mary took his arm then patted it to get his attention. She never knew what to do at times like these. She knew by the guilt marring his handsome features that he was thinking about the time she had gotten shot. That wasn't her favorite memory, but she didn't remember anything after shouting "gun." She didn't even remember falling to the ground. The pain came later when she woke up in recovery. Marshall still felt the pain of personal guilt.

"I know," she whispered. "I know. I feel the same way about when you got shot. I watched you dying by inches stuck in that dirty hellhole. I didn't know then how strong you are, how you could know your own treatment, find what was needed and hang on. I asked you to, and you did." She expelled a long breath. "That was then. This is now. I'm fine. You're so so," she joked. "Let's go catch some bad guys."

"Okay."

Stan studied his two Inspectors. They had spent the night together on the same mattress but looked no different. Either they were great actors or nothing had happened. There was no afterglow. Shaking his head, Stan turned to the Mike Washington file.

"Good thing you two are caught up on witness visits. This could take a day or two." He waved his arm to move them along.

"I hope not. I don't look forward to sleeping on the floor again," Mary groused. Stan noticed that Marshall didn't complain.

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A/N: This story is winding down. Just a few more chapters. Will they get the bad guys? Will WITSEC's secret remain a secret?


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: My apologies for the delay in posting. But really, weren't you all out holiday shopping?

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***

Girls Will Be Girls – Chap 19

Monday night

Stan gave them the bad news late that afternoon. "No word on Epps shooter. You two need to stay here one more night. We'll decide tomorrow where to go from here."

When Mary groaned, Stan declared cheerily, "It's not so bad here. It's warm at night. You have a great view of the mountains in the day. No pesky witnesses, and your favorite takeout brought right to your desk."

"Thanks for that, Stan," Marshall graciously acknowledged. "Lunch was really good. **I**, for one," he emphasized, "appreciate what you're doing for us."

_Really, brown nose! _Mary glared at Marshall, but then relented. "Yeah, thanks Stan. I know this is no picnic for you either." She knew Stan was doing his best. She thought he was going to wear out the buttons on his phone keeping tabs on the hunt for the shooter, trying to find out when his Inspectors would be safe.

"Well, looks like your dinner's here." Stan took the white bags from the marshal at the security gate. He handed the bags to Marshall and let himself out of the office. "I'll see you two tomorrow." The ding of the elevator was hidden by the rustling unwrapping of their meal.

Tonight's dinner was burritos with a side of refried beans covered in melted cheese. Marshall was adding hot sauce to his while Mary um um ummed over hers. She had to admit, Stan was trying to make their incarceration palatable. So far every meal had come from one of her favorite restaurants. She hadn't realized Stan was so familiar with what she liked.

After dinner, Marshall and Mary talked. Mostly about Mayhem Mike, money laundering and Epps shooting. They poured over the photos trying to figure out which local officials were being paid off or blackmailed and how they fit into the money laundering, and other operations of the mob and drug cartels.

When they ran out of dots to connect, Mary got the whiskey bottle from her bottom drawer and poured them each a glass. Marshall raised his eyebrows wondering if she knew what she was doing. Too tired to do anything else, she nodded. Marshall rolled his chair over to her desk and picked up the other glass.

After two drinks, Marshall decided it was time to have **the** talk. He rested his elbow on her desk. "You've changed," he whispered to his glass. "You changed and I didn't even notice."

Bleary eyed, Mary raised her head from her crossed arms and stared at him. She felt sluggish and numb after sitting in the office all day. "I'm trying. God knows I'm trying." She put her head back down, breaking the connection.

Marshall stared at her, willing her to respond. She seemed okay earlier. "I've been worried about you."

"Why?" She glowered at him. "You've got plenty of other things to worry about. Origami paper that won't fold. Making sure Nancy Drew is safe. I can take care of myself," she insisted. "You don't need to worry about me."

"You're my partner," he said as if that explained everything. Maybe he did need to elaborate. She needed to understand why he was worried. "The last time you were thoughtful and courteous was after your kidnapping. Face it Mare, you have never bought lunch."

She laughed. A whole hearted guffaw, no lady like chuckle. "You thought I was losing it because I was nice to you?" Her laugh tapered off. "I was nice to you because I was losing it." She reiterated, trying out the words, whirling them around on her tongue and in her mind. "That's about right. I'd have to be crazy to be nice to you. Right Marshall?" she demanded.

"It wasn't like you were a decent, talented, kickass partner who deserved to be treated right. Nyah," she took another glug of whiskey. "That couldn't be it. Why would your partner be polite to you? You've got a girlfriend for that. I'm just here to watch your back, to make sure your family tradition of honest service stays spotless." She pillowed her head on her arms and muttered "No reason for me to repay your kindness. Nope. None at all."

"C'mon Mare. Even you must be able to see how different you've been lately. It's as if you finally turned your ability to straighten out our witnesses lives on your own life." Marshall had been thinking about nothing else for the past week.

"I told Stan, y'know," he confessed. Mary narrowed her eyes. Marshall had alerted Stan to her uncharacteristic behavior.

Her "I know" was muffled because she was resting, head down.

"You knew? When did you know?" He had expected an angry retort questioning his parentage, his manhood and his standing as a marshal. He didn't expect her quiet acceptance.

Lifting her head she made an effort to enunciate clearly. "When you ran into Stan's office like your pants were on fire. You slammed the door." Returning her face to her arms, she muttered, "You never slam doors unless we're on a raid."

Exasperated, Marshall huffed, "The only reason you aren't in mandated sessions with Shelley is because she's on vacation." How could he get her to understand how serious this was? Flashbacks that distracted her could get her killed. Or him. She needed her head in the game.

She turned her head toward him with a shit eating grin. "Nice timing, huh?"

Marshall leaned back in his chair. "Oh c'mon. You can't take credit for that," he retorted. Marshall didn't think Mary could finesse Shelley.

"Why not? How do you know I didn't put a brochure for some special vacation deal in Shelley's mailbox?" she needled. "You know, chance of a lifetime, never again at this price. Blah, blah, blah." Her voice trailed off.

Teasing Marshall was her favorite sport. When she got him to believe some outlandish tale was the best. She sighed realizing it had been months since she teased him about anything. Trying to be respectful was no fun.

She heard Marshall's chair squeak and tensed as she thought he was moving closer. He reached for the bottle, and poured himself another glass. She sighed with relief. These days and nights spent in his constant company were damn difficult. She giggled at the thought that being with her 24/7 had made it hard for him too.

"What's so funny?" Mary's bouts of cheer were rare. He wanted to know what caused this one so he could repeat it and get to hear her giggle again.

"Hard," she mumbled.

Not following, not wanting to follow the raunchy ramification of that word, Marshall tried to get the conversation back on track. What had caused Mary to be thoughtful and courteous?

"Why now, Mare? What's going on?" he pried gently. When she didn't reply he asked, "Are you having flashbacks of your kidnapping?" He wouldn't have asked without that last dose of liquid courage.

"Flashback," she mumbled. "Yeah, I had one of those. Two actually," she admitted. "That laundry room," she caught his eye to see if he remembered. He did. "It looked like Spanky's basement. But this time I wasn't tied up and drugged. This time I still had my gun. When he grabbed me I was able to fight. I fixed him," she nodded, raising her glass. "Yessiree Bobbitt. I fixed him."

"Who? Who did you fix?" OMG, if she had switched to women, it was possible she had castrated some guy who attacked her. Under the circumstances, Marshall could forgive her but he was afraid the courts wouldn't.

"Uh uh Marshall. You're not going to trick me into telling you." She drew her thumb and forefinger across her mouth as if closing a zipper.

Taking a different tack, Marshall asked, "How did you feel after you **fixed** whoever this was."

Mary muttered and mumbled.

Marshall insisted. "Mare, how did you feel? What did you do?"

Sniffing, she turned and said, "I got in the truck and drove as far away from that place as I could. When my vision blurred, I pulled over and ..." She really didn't want to tell him this. She was weak, weak, weak. She pounded her fist on the desk. She needed to be strong for her partner, for herself.

"It's okay Mare. You can tell me. You're my best friend. I would never use anything you said to hurt you. Please, tell me what happened next." His voice was soft, cajoling. Something about his voice always calmed her, even when he squeaked.

Suddenly sitting up, Mary braced her hands on her desk and shouted, "I lost it, dammit. I cried and I shook and I lost it. Then I picked up the pieces, and drove back to work."

Marshall wanted to hold her, comfort her. He couldn't make his feet obey. The silence enveloped them. Marshall didn't know what to say. He didn't think she'd allow him to hug her. He was out of options. Glancing at the clock, he saw one thing he could do. Marshall went into the conference room and set up their bed for the night.

Mission accomplished, he walked slowly toward his partner. "Time to hit the hay, partner." He took her glass and his, rinsed them and put them away. Then he got his tooth brush and go bag and went to get ready for bed.

Before he left, she corrected him. "Air mattress, hay is damn scratchy."

When he returned she had changed into sweats and was spitting toothpaste into the break room sink.

"Time to go night night little girl. Want me to tell you a story?" Marshall was kidding, but he'd do anything to get her to relax. The whiskey had helped but she was still upset, angry with herself.

Mary wasn't as wasted as she led him to believe. He put his arm around her when she stumbled, and put his hand on her head so she wouldn't bump it when she ducked under the table.

Once they were settled, covers spread, pillows arranged, she rasped, "Tell me a story. Tell me about how the good guys always win. Tell me how..." her voice trailed off.

It broke his heart to see her so vulnerable. He vowed he would do whatever it took to make her comfortable, to get a good nights sleep. A night without nightmares. A night without screaming herself awake.

Spooning up behind her he whispered into her ear, his breath ruffling her hair. "Once upon a time there was a beautiful marshal whose hair was as bright as the star she wore." Mary snickered. "She worked very hard to become a marshal. She learned how to shoot, she learned how to hunt."

"Damn straight," Mary interjected.

"Hush, who's telling the story?" he complained. "She hunted bad guys and was very good at it. Then one day she came across two innocent but not too smart witnesses and the tall marshal sent to protect them. The two marshals, and the two witnesses, took a long road trip to safety. On the way the marshals got acquainted. He found out that she was brutally honest, besides being beautiful. She found out that he was incredibly smart, and handsome." Mary reached behind her to smack Marshall. "Hey, no hitting. It's a fairy tale," he protested.

"Does it have a happy ending?" she whined. "I don't want to listen unless it has a happy ending."

"You'll just have to listen and see. Now where was I?" Marshall wanted to work some not so happy things into the story to see if he could get Mary to talk about them. Since she already admitted to the flashback in the laundry room, he figured he had a chance.

"The beautiful marshal followed the tall handsome marshal to his city. They worked at the same place. They became partners, then friends, and eventually best friends. The tall marshal wanted the beautiful marshal to be happy, to enjoy life, but bad men came and took her away from him." His voice reflected his sadness. Mary lay still.

"Despite being tied up and having no service weapon, she got free and shot the bastard who was trying to hurt her with her holdout." Marshall recounted her escape in a quivery voice. He inhaled and continued. "She saved herself. The tall marshal was very sad that she had been hurt, and very guilty that he couldn't even rescue her. She had rescued herself."

Mary wriggled, now uncomfortable. "That's no fairy tale," she protested.

"Every fairy tale has dragons, Mare. Now stop interrupting," he insisted.

"The beautiful marshal tried to pretend that she was okay, but life brought her other problems. Her sister was thrown in the dungeon and had to be rescued. While rescuing her sister, she put her horrible experience out of her mind. Once her sister was safe, her mind played tricks on her. It made her remember the horrid time. She refused to admit what was happening and told everyone she was fine."

"Marshall," she whined and turned her head toward him. "Don't."

"Mare, this is going to haunt you unless you deal with it," he insisted.

"And how do I do that, Doofus? Spill my guts to Shelley and let her stir them until I puke?"

"If that's what it takes. Wouldn't it be worth it to sleep without nightmares, to not freak out in basements? Or" he paused resuming his soft story telling voice, "you could just tell the tall handsome marshal who wants you to be happy. Telling him might take away the pain and he wouldn't have to feel guilty."

Still spooned against Marshall, Mary tried to turn to face him. She rose up on her elbow but stayed in place. "Why should you feel guilty? It wasn't your fault. They kidnapped the wrong friggin' sister. How is that your fault?" Her voice rose as she became more upset.

"Ssshh," he massaged her shoulder, pushing her back down on her side. He knew it would be easier for her to talk if she didn't have to face him. He knew it would be easier for him.

"The beautiful marshal doesn't want to talk," she muttered grumpily.

"But the tall handsome marshal wants to help. He wants to hear how she felt. He wants to tell her how strong she is, how smart she was to rescue herself. He wants her to know that she is the strongest, smartest, most beautiful marshal in the entire kingdom. He wants her to be confident and happy. He wants her to know she is loved."

He felt Mary's shoulders start to shake. Dispirited, he thought she was laughing at him. Again. Until she rolled over and he could see her tears in the light of the dim emergency lamp. He put his arms around her.

"That's right. Let it out. Let it all out," he encouraged.

Through her tears Mary told him everything she remembered from her kidnapping and the shooting in Spanky's basement. She told him how hot it was, how sweaty she was. She told him that aerosolized blood tasted sweet, how it stayed in her nose for days. Every time she inhaled, she could smell Chuck's blood. Even now, she smelled it on bad days.

Marshall held her, dried her tears and gently rocked her in his arms. Eventually she fell asleep, and so did he.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Girls Will Be Girls – Chapter 20

Wednesday

Mary and Marshall had been stuck in the WITSEC office for two days and two nights. Mary had been complaining about everything-sleeping on the floor, Marshall's snoring, the food, falling behind on witness visits. She even whined about not having reports to do. She whined loudest about her lack of clean clothes. Stan was tired of hearing Mary complain.

As Stan approached his desk, Marshall sighed."Y'know Stan, Mary's right." Mary gave Marshall a shit eating grin. Nothing Mary Shannon liked better than being right. "My go bag is gone." He shook his head. "I'm all out of clean underwear."

"That's because Miss Priss here changes it three times a day," Mary muttered snarkily. Stan frowned. Marshall cut his eyes toward her then put his chin on his chest muttering, "Only when I'm around you,, Sunshine."

"Really Stan," Mary continued sitting at her desk but focused on the Chief. "The bathroom at the men's gym smells better than I do. Deodorant can only handle so much. All you have to do. . . " She rolled back from her desk and walked toward Stan. In a sing song voice she cajoled, "is go to my house, go into my bedroom and check the top drawer on the right hand side. Find the lacy black thong, and the emerald green lace panties, and the high rise red lace ones..."

Stan had started spluttering when he heard 'thong' and was coughing. Marshall, his own ears pink, went to aid the Chief. A few claps on the back later, Stan's breathing returned to near normal, and Marshall returned to his desk. Stan huffed and leaned both hands on Mary's desk. "I am not going to your house, Inspector," he shrilled, his voice an octave higher than usual.

Mary smirked. She hadn't ever seen his bald spot that color. She pouted and said, "Awww really? Here I am giving you free access to my **personal** **private** lingerie, and you can't do it? I could really use the emerald green lace bra too. It comes around here," she traced the tops of her breasts with her fingers. She stopped when when Stan shouted, "Inspector Shannon!"

"Umm, yes," Mary responded innocently, returning to her chair.

"I appreciate that you and Marshall need fresh clothes, but I will not be going through your underwear!"

Mary nodded sagely. "Mmm, okay. How about you drop me off near my house. I'll make my way in through the back yard. Once I've showered, and changed, I'll call a cab and go to the court house. I'll get one of the official trucks and drive around till the douche bags spot me. We'll arrange for a 50 caliber welcoming committee and I'll lead them to the spot. Once they're out of the picture, Marshall and I can return to our normal dull and boring lives, and our jobs."

Mary's smug expression said she thought her plan would get the job done.

"C'mon Stan. Even Marshall agrees. We need a real shower and clean clothes and a night sleeping in a real bed."

"Inspector," Stan lectured sternly. "They still don't have a bead on who shot Epps. It's not safe."

"We don't want them at the Sunshine Building," Mary began.

"Not that they don't already know what goes on here." Stan interjected. Epps was probably shot because he was seen with Mary and Marshall. If the bad guys had seen Epps enter the Sunshine building they would know. Until Stan knew if the bad guys knew, a security breach remained a possibility.

"Stan," Marshall objected. "If they were staking out the Sunshine Building, They would be on the surveillance cams. I've adjusted the ones on the roof, and have been reviewing the feed several times a day. It's not as if there's a lot of other work. I've talked to the building security team. They are doing surveillance around the clock. We would have seen them," he insisted.

"Are you prepared to bet her life on that?" Stan knew Marshall's plans were nearly foolproof. Mary's not so much.

Marshall swallowed and caught the fire in his partner's eyes. Marshall could tell she had made the plan up on the spot. Not a bad thing, but when her life hung in the balance, not good enough.

Mary wasn't deterred. "We can set a trap. But first I need to go home. "She strung out the last word. "Please Stan. The bathrooms at the men's' gym smell better than I do."

"Mare," Marshall implored. "It's a risk you don't need to take. A risk you are not going to take." Before she could object he stressed, "You are not doing this Mare. Not alone." They both looked to Stan, the final arbiter.

"Marshall's right, Mary. It's risky. But you two can't stay here forever. We've got to get those hoodlums. Seeing you will bring them out of the woodwork, but..." he paused and pointed at her, "You are not doing this alone. Marshall will be there. Let's take a look at this plan." He nodded to Marshall. "Don't worry, if Mary gets to go home, I'll have someone grab you a change of clothes."

"Discrimination," Mary sniffed.

Stan had had enough. "Mary, if we can get this plan set up properly you will be going home. All right? I don't want to hear any more complaints. Now let's go over the plan."

Over an early dinner from Mary's favorite burger place, they embellished, perfected and added back up to the plan. Marshall was relieved that Stan hadn't ordered the diner's specialty - hot fudge oreo cupcakes. Although he could use the calories, he couldn't survive watching Mary enjoy them. It was bad enough spending two nights next to her.

The plan called for Mary to be in disguise. After she got her 'goddamn shower,' she'd call a cab, and meet Marshall at the Pete V. Domenici Courthouse. Marshals would be watching her house before she arrived and after she left.

Marshall would stay at the Sunshine Building, running last minute threat assessments. A van would take Marshall to the courthouse.

Wednesday night

Marshall had rigged a sort of back up camera to check behind them. No one followed them as they left the courthouse. His attention was split between the rear camera and the traffic in front and beside them. Mary sedately drove the standard black SUV. Miscreants didn't need the logo on the door to know it was a law enforcement vehicle.

Night made it more difficult to spot a tail. Headlights looked similar, but Marshall could tell the difference. Scrunched down in the passenger seat, his eyes bounced from screen to windows to mirrors and back again.

"Ah, who knew clean hair could feel so good," Mary marveled. She ruffled it, spreading it over her shoulders, making it obvious a blonde was driving. "A clean thong feels really good too," Mary teased. Marshall scrunched down lower in his seat.

After their third trip between Old Town and the convention center, Marshall perked up. "Got a tail."

"I see him. Let's see how far he's willing to go." She headed for the I25 South, the quickest way out of town, away from civilians.

"He's got company," Marshall announced flatly. His eyes were glued to the monitor, preparing to relay what he saw to Stan.

"How many?"

"At least one more. No," he hesitated. "Make that two. A dark sedan and a silver SUV in addition to the black SUV two cars back."

The odds weren't good. Despite the fact that this was her plan, Mary was nervous. "Looks like everyone got the invitation to this party. Call Stan," she urged.

"Dialing even as we speak," Marshall retorted drily.

"Stan, company's coming. You got a welcome arranged?" Marshall was abruptly pushed back into his seat as Mary sped up. Thanks to the late hour, the freeway had few cars. Mary pushed the pedal to the metal and they shot ahead of their tail for a few minutes. Marshall used the time to relay stills from the rear camera of the cars following them.

As the car jerked into the fast lane, Marshall grabbed the armrests. "Hey Mare,"

"Hmm?" Mary concentrated on the road and didn't look at him.

"A little warning partner. I almost dropped the video unit."

Mary shrugged, hunching over the steering wheel. "We could use a highway patrol escort about now." Head down, watching the monitor, Marshall grunted his agreement. As far as they knew the highway patrol wasn't involved in the corruption at ABQPD.

Zipping past the exit to Sunport Mary dove across lanes to the last airport exit but didn't take it. She did take the next one a lot faster than recommended. A battered dusty red pickup headed toward them and quickly passed. With no traffic ahead, Mary floored it speeding towards a cluster of buildings on the right. When she slowed, Marshall yelled, "Guns! Five o'clock." Mary was sure all the vehicles had shooters. She swerved the vehicle back and forth across the two lane road before they heard the high pitched whine of bullets.

The truck tires squealed as it turned without slowing. Mary took the main road, the one semis had used to make deliveries to the now abandoned shopping center. The space between the warehouses was big enough to maneuver, but there was only one way in and one way out. Slowing as they approached a loading dock, Mary yelled, "Where's that backup?"

Hemmed in by the warehouses with only small alleyways between them, the WITSEC marshals were sitting ducks. Three cars followed them and spread out. One behind and one on each side. Live fire whined around them. "I'm not paying for any bullet holes in this truck," Mary yelled as she scrunched down in her seat. Their spare Glock magazines sat on the console between them.

Windows down gave them a better view, but removed the minimal protection the bullet proof glass provided. They opened the windows and used the rear camera and the mirrors to track their assailants. The truck shook when several bullets hit the back end. "Jesus." Mary exclaimed. "Where's that back up?"

"Mary," Marshall commanded. She knew what he wanted and powered down the back window, grateful that it still worked. She kept the other shooters occupied while Marshall aimed his rifle at the car immediately behind them. "Can you get the gas tank?" Mary asked. "Maybe," Marshall replied. The p-taff of three shots from Marshall's gun echoed in her ears. Both front tires of the black SUV collapsed, jerking the shooters down and out of position. Three more shots rang out, followed by a barroom. The fireball that used to be an SUV distracted the remaining shooters. Mary squeezed off a shot at the guy in the car to her left.

Sneaking a look at her partner, she muttered her approval. "Damn boyscout." Always prepared, Marshall was wearing night vision goggles. Shots rang out for an interminable time. Aim, shoot, aim shoot, reload. Repeat. While reloading Mary checked her partner. She was going to make damn sure he came out of this without a scratch. He's her partner. That's her job.

"This is back up? Wait till I get hold of Stan," Mary threatened. Bullets pinged around them, but didn't seem to hit the truck.

"Mare," Marshall calmly addressed his partner between shots. "Not that I want you distracted, but if you get a chance, look up."

On the rooftops Mary saw black uniformed marshals with night vision masks on every rooftop. These snipers pinned down the shooters in the remaining two cars.

Mary slumped further down in her seat. Marshall saw her out of the corner of his eye but figured she was reloading. He watched and waited for the shooting to stop. Four men lay on the ground away from the fireball created by the exploding vehicle. By firelight, Marshall saw SWAT clad officers approaching. "I think we're done here." He turned to Mary when she didn't reply. That's when he saw the left side of her face covered in blood.

"Officer down, officer down," he cried into the com link. "Stan, Mary's been hit. I need a bus!" He had just seen her, she had been griping about shooting in the dark, their so-called back up and everything else that had gone wrong with her plan. Marshall realized Mary had been quiet right after the last rounds were fired, when he had seen her slump down.

"Copy that," was Stan's reassuring reply. "There's one on site. I'll get the EMTs to you. Stay put."

Marshall jumped out of the truck and ran to the driver's side. He held his gun on the approaching EMT until he saw Stan beside him. After the cacophony of the firefight the silence was unnerving. One by one he glimpsed the remaining shooters slither out of the cars, and go face down on the pavement.

Shoving his weapon into the holster he pleaded, "Help me get her out."

A SWAT officer joined them, lighting the area. The EMT was close behind. "Let's get this door open," he ordered. Stan and Marshall and EMT muscled the damaged door, almost dumping Mary when it suddenly released. The EMT held Mary in the seat as he tried to determine the source of the blood. "It's a head wound," he yelled. "Let's get her out of here."

The EMT stepped back to get medical supplies so Marshall held Mary as Stan forced the door open wider. He embraced her gently pulling her from the driver's seat. Adrenaline gone, her weight pushed him off balance and he sat down hard. He cradled her in his lap, holding her head so the medic could bandage the wound. Blood trickled onto his shirt and jacket, disappearing into the dark fabric. Chest heaving, he tried to keep still.

"How bad?" Stan asked.

"The wound appears to be superficial," the medic assured them. "Head wounds bleed a lot." Handing Marshall a mass of gauze, the EMT instructed, "Put pressure on it."

Marshall did as he was told. "If the wound is superficial, why is she unconscious?"

"For that, we need a hospital. Her vitals are good," He attached a fingertip pulse oximeter. Checking it, he continued, "her pulse is. . . . I'd call it fluttering, not thready, just not . . . .strong. Let's get her into the ambulance."

"I'm going with her," Marshall asserted. No way was he leaving her side. He felt certain that even unconscious she would know he was there. She would feel safe.

"Go," Stan urged. "I'll take care of things here."

Marshall staggered as he tried to rise with Mary still in his arms. "Here," the EMT reached for her. "Let's get her on the stretcher." Another EMT held the gurney steady. "Set her down." They loaded her into the ambulance and were speeding to the hospital, siren blaring. Marshall sat next to Mary's head, holding her hand, watching her breathe with the oxygen mask. He didn't remember climbing into the ambulance.

"C'mon Mare," he begged, holding her hand. An IV had been started in her other hand. "Wake up. Doc says it's just a graze." The blood had been cleared from her face. When the EMT had rolled her eyelid up, the eyeballs looked pink. Before he became more agitated, the EMT reassured him. "It's her blood, from the head wound. Her vision should be fine."

Face wet with tears, Marshall leaned over Mary. "Hear that Mare? You can stop faking anytime now." The EMTs eyed the distressed marshal, knowing he could be their next patient.

To his relief, Mary's eyes fluttered opened briefly. She murmured something that sounded like Marshall into the mask. He gripped her hand. She took it and ran the back of his hand against her cheek, then closed her eyes.

Marshall panicked. "What happened?"

The EMTs assured him that her reaction was normal. Her pulse was steady now and the gauze around her head had stopped seeping. Before he could process what the EMT said, the ambulance slowed to the emergency entrance. The ambulance was still rolling when the doors flew open. The EMTs scrambled out and unfolded the wheels on the stretcher.

"Careful," Marshall admonished as they jolted Mary when the gurney wheels hit the ground. Marshall hurried after them. He lost sight of her when the doors to the treatment area closed.

Exhausted, he allowed a nurse to lead to a private waiting room. He assured the nurse that any blood she saw wasn't his and then he sat, waiting for word of Mary's condition. He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, Stan was sitting next to him, jostling his shoulder, and calling his name.

"Were you hit?" Stan pointed to the blood on Marshall's hands and face.

Marshall looked at him as if he'd taken leave of his senses. "No, no. That's Mary's. She's still in there." He hooked his thumb to the ER doors.

The last time he had seen Marshall so lost, Mary had been gut shot and wasn't breathing. Marshall's hair hung in his face. His five o'clock shadow added to the despair in his eyes. "Do you want me to call anyone? Abigail?"

Marshall's head jerked up at his girlfriend's name. "No." he said firmly. The last thing he needed was trying to explain what happened to a member of ABQPD. Instead, he countered with his own question. "How did it go?"

"Two of the guys you identified from the airport surveillance video are in the ER. The rest of the shooters seem to be from one of the cartels. None of our guys was hit. Except Mary."

"Have you called Jinx and Brandi?" Marshall knew he should make that call, but for once he just couldn't do the right thing.

"Not yet. Not till we know Mary's condition and have something to tell them." Patting his Inspector on the shoulder Stan soothed him. "Let me check."

Marshall stood when he saw Stan hold out his badge, and the nurse nodded in response. She held up one finger in the universal 'wait' sign and disappeared through the doors.

"She's checking, Marshall. Mary's tough. I'm sure she's okay." Stan was worried too. He was concerned for both his Inspectors.

"Then why was she unconscious? God, Stan, there was so much blood," Marshall sobbed.

"They don't know." Stan patted his arm ineffectually. "That's why she's here. They're running tests," Stan informed him. Grabbing his arm, Stan led him to an upholstered chair. "Sit down, Marshall, before you fall down."

Marshall resisted, preferring to pace as he worried. He ran his hand through his hair, and finally sat accepting that his body was ready to rest, even if his mind ran the picture of Mary's blood soaked face on an endless loop.

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TBC


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***IPS***

Girls Will Be Girls - Chapter 21

Thursday, UNM hospital

One universal truth. Hospital chairs are uncomfortable. Despite that Marshall had fallen asleep holding Mary's hand. The morning sun from her window stabbed him as he slept. His eyes snapped open when he hear a groan. "Mary?"

"Marshall?" She stared at him, looking as if she'd seen a ghost. "You're alive? The blood..." her voice gave out.

"Here," Marshall got a spoonful of ice chips and held them in front of her lips. "You know the drill." He gently placed the spoon on her lips.

Mouth full, Mary eyed him oddly.

"What? Have I got something in my hair?" His hands rifled through his hair, making the long strands flop every which way. There could still be debris from the explosion. He hadn't looked. A nurse had given him some wipes. He thought he had gotten the blood, but hadn't checked carefully. He'd spent every minute waiting for her to wake up.

She shook her head, no. After a few seconds she croaked, "You're alive."

Marshall smiled warmly, an ear to ear grin, eyes sparkling. "And so are you, Sunshine." He gripped her hand a little tighter. "But if I don't let the doc know you're awake, he'll kill me," he joked as he pressed the call button.

A doctor and nurse took her vitals asked a few questions and smiled when they recommended, despite her protest that she stay overnight. As soon as they left Mary shook her head as if to clear it. "But, but," she spluttered. "The blood, all that blood. I saw you, in the firelight. You were covered in blood. You weren't moving."

"It was all yours Mare. You've got a new part in your hair, partner. The EMT said the blood from you head had gotten into your eyes. You were looking through your own blood. It was all over your face." He gripped her hand remembering the awful sight. "You looked like an extra in a slasher movie." He joked ineffectually.

Mary looked at him then shook her head. "You, you..." she gulped. "You weren't hit?"

"Nope." He raised both hands, stood and opened his jacket. The black shirt and dark jacket he still wore hid her blood from view. When she still looked unconvinced, he pulled up his shirt and undershirt.

Mary leaned forward and grabbed his hand and pulled him into a tenacious hug. He heard her mutter, "Thank God. Thank God. About damn time one of my prayers got answered." Marshall froze. His partner had prayed for him? Was this part of her PTSD reaction?

When she heard him gasp, she released him. "What the hell happened? The last thing I remember is seeing you, all..all bloody." She examined him, looking for bandages.

"When you passed out, the shooters had surrendered. Two in the SUV I hit are in the ER. The rest are in jail," Marshall reported. "The firefight, getting shot, coupled with what you thought you saw, caused a vasovagal syncope. That resulted in a sudden drop in your heart rate and blood pressure."

Mary tried to cross her arms, frustrated by the IV. "You mean I wussed out," she snorted.

"Not at all," Marshall retorted mildly. He scooted the orange plastic chair as close to her bed as he could get. He cradled her hand to his chest.

Mary laid back and put the other hand over her eyes. "I thought you were dead," she sniffed, reliving that awful moment. "If you were gone, I didn't need to be there. I failed." Other than the trauma of her kidnapping, Marshall had never seen her so close to tears.

"You didn't fail Mare," he assured her. "Your plan worked. We're both fine. Mike Washington and his cronies will be guests of the state, and we're no longer number 1 and 2 on their hit list. It's over," he soothed.

She peeked through her fingers. He could almost see the loose ends of the investigation tumbling through her head. He stroked the back of her hand. "What about Talltrees?" She coughed, and Marshall offered her another spoon of ice chips.

"There's a warrant out for his arrest. Money laundering, conducing a fraudulent business, witness tampering. And a few others. The DA is having a field day," Marshall confided gleefully.

"ABQPD?"

"Ah, that's a different kettle of fish," he sighed. "The Inspector General has picked up where Homeland Security and the FBI left off. Stan managed to keep the WITSEC piece of things out of it. The IG knows the Marshal Service was investigating but not that it was us."

"Anyone under arrest? From the police," she clarified.

"Two uniforms and the coroner. They're hoping to flip the uniforms for more names. The city and local elected officials are under house arrest while they go through their finances with a fine tooth comb. Shouldn't take long. Even I saw some suspicious transactions and I didn't look very hard."

"Abigail?" Mary reclaimed her hand and pushed to a sitting position.

"Wait, Mare. Lets raise the bed." Marshall handed her the bed controls.

"She had no part in it. Detective Lewis came up clean too. Most of the officers being investigated were named either by Officer Thomas or Bobbi. Abigail's fine. Or she was the last time I saw her."

Mary eyed her partner. There was something unsaid in that last statement. Now that she was sitting up, she looked in his eyes.

Mary moved her hand back to his, and raised her head to study his face. "Go home Marshall. Jesus. You look worse than I do." She flopped back onto her pillow and turned away to conceal how his presence affected her.

He asked mournfully, "Do you want me to go? I'll go, if that's what you want."

She raised her eyes to the ceiling. "What I want has nothing to do with it. You need a good night's rest. You need to relax with your girlfriend, away from here." Her voice broke on the last word.

"Do you want to relax with your girlfriend?" He knew having her family come would not be relaxing, and didn't offer to call Jinx or Brandi. "Is there someone I should call?" If she didn't want his company, maybe she'd feel better with one of her new friends.

"What? No! I don't have any girlfriends," she huffed, "not live ones."

"What about Dani?"

"What about him?"

"Would you rather he," Marshall stuttered, "er she stay with you?"

"No! Where are you getting this from? What is going on between those ears of yours Marshall?"

"I ... I just thought, with all that's happened recently. You know, hanging out at the Pagoda, meeting some woman on a regular basis...I thought maybe," he dragged it out as long as he could. "I thought you preferred women now."

After she swallowed a gulp of air, Mary smiled then laughed then guffawed. Concerned that she was becoming hysterical, Marshall stood to reach the nurse call button.

"No, no." She swatted his hand. "I don't need another Nurse Nancy in here. Jeez Marshall, if laughter really is the best medicine I should be healed and ready to go home now." She choked, and covered her mouth as she coughed.

"Water?" Marshall decided to disregard the ice chip only mandate to keep her from choking. He quickly poured a glass, which she sipped carefully.

Mary kept her eyes focused on her toes, but moved her eyes to the side to see him. "You really fell for it? Huh. I didn't think Dani and I did that good a job," she smirked.

"Wait," Marshall exclaimed, catching on. "You mean that whole scene outside the Pagoda was an act?"

Mary nodded and spoke into the water glass. "Cover for meeting a confidential informant."

"So you're CI's a woman?" Marshall ran several scenarios through and realized the Pagoda would be a safe place to meet.

"I didn't say that." Mary was determined to keep Roxanne's name out it.

"So you didn't dig up those photos and documents on your own."

"Never said I did," Mary retorted.

"So, someone in ABQPD gave you the roll calls and patrol car logs," Marshall insisted.

"Wasn't Abigail," Mary assured him.

"I didn't think it was," he retorted. "She hasn't been there long enough to have that kind of access."

Seeing Marshall's persistence, Mary threw him a bone. "Some of the documents came from Officer Thomas."

"Before or after he died?"

Mary shrugged. "Drop it Marshall," she demanded. "I kept you out of this as long as I could. For your own safety, dammit."

"Does Stan know?"

"About my source?" Mary shook her head no. Startled she jerked Marshall's hand. "Wait! Did Stan think I'd become a lesbian too?"

Marshall smiled his crocodile smile, keeping her in suspense as long as he dared before saying, "Nyah. He had no idea I suspected any such thing."

Mary relaxed and settled into her pillow. "Good," she mumbled. "Good."

It was her turn to play the girlfriend card. "When did you last see Abigail?" Her partner deserved to be happy. Abigail seemed to make him happy. Despite her feelings, Mary was determined to do everything she could so his relationship with Abigail would succeed.

Marshall looked at his feet, straightened the sheet covering her, but didn't answer.

Observing him and reading the answer in his silence, Mary asked, "What? You and the Cheerleader have a falling out?" She took his hand and stroked it to comfort him. "You can fix it Marshall."

"No, no disagreement. We've both been busy, the investigation, you getting shot." His excuses sounded weak even to him.

"Lemme call her. I'll tell her it's my fault. You two seem to fit, y'know?"

"No Mare."

"No, you don't fit or no you don't want me to call her?" she harrumphed.

"Both. You don't need to make excuses for me. I'm right where I should be. At my partner's side."

"But," she hesitated, "you and her. You're happy. You deserve to be happy," she insisted, determined.

Marshall lowered his head. "That's just it Mare, I can't be happy with her."

"Why the hell not? She's perfect. She's pretty and smart. She can match you trivia for trivia, museum for museum, art gallery for art gallery. She's perfect for you. She's practically you in a dress."

With her last statement, Marshall raised his head. "That's it, Mare. You hit the nail on the head this time."

Puzzled by his reaction, Mary asked, "What? What did I say?"

"In some ways Abigail is my perfect match. She's ready to settle down. She's law enforcement. She understands about the job. We have a lot of the same interests, although," he grimaced, "I'll never be enamored of going to the spa."

Mary nodded in agreement as he listed each point. "Don't say enamored," she muttered.

"We're comfortable in each other's company," he added. Mary nodded. "I believe it takes more than comfort to make a marriage work. I like Abigail. We have fun together, but . . . . "

"What else is there Marshall? What's wrong?"

Marshall sighed. "WITSEC makes friendships, relationships, difficult. You know that. There's so much we can't share Mare. There's more to life than winning the triple letter score in scrabble. That's all her friends can know about me."

"Oh, c'mon. The king of deflection and redirect has a problem with making small talk? Is she asking you to give up wearing cowboy boots? What?"

"It's more than that. Can we," he paused and looked at her, "Can we talk about this another time?"

"Sure, sure, partner." Mary could see he was uncomfortable and let it go.

WITSEC Office three days later

Mary whooshed into the office and bounced into her desk chair smiling broadly. "It's Iike getting two prizes in one cracker jack box!"

Marshall asked, "Because Mike Washington was with them?"

A raid by the FBI and Homeland Security in Albuquerque and Chicago had resulted in the capture of Mike Washington and the arrest of Edwin Talltrees. A few more ABQPD officials were also under arrest.

Mary's grin was answer enough.

"Good job Inspectors," Stan greeted them. Stan had been busy keeping WITSEC out of the various reports. Being Chief was tricky. His bosses needed to know what they did, but other agencies couldn't know. With the rest of Mike Washington's organization under arrest Mary and Marshall were safe. As safe as any WITSEC marshal.

"Yeeesss," she exclaimed bounced out of her chair and ran to high five Marshall, then Stan. "With the hired guns under lock and key, we can go back to our sort of secret WITSEC lives, and not the super secret ones we've been living."

"What about you, Marshall?" Mary expected Marshall to be jubilant, but his expression was dour. "Awe, are we sad? No more spending quality time with that borrowed high tech equipment?" Marshall gave her a perfunctory smile and returned to his desk.

"I don't think that's everyone," Marshall replied. "There are more that have escaped the net. If they stop now, ABQPD won't be any less corrupt." Marshall's own research had uncovered more names than appeared on the arrest records.

Mary was downhearted at Marshall's accurate but pessimistic response. Something else was bugging Marshall and Mary was determined to fix it. Maybe she'd call Abigail after all. She wanted to check with Roxanne. Maybe she had more insight into the IG's investigation. Certainly ABQPD must be full of rumors.

As they wrote up their after action reports, Marshall thought about how he felt. He was glad the goons were in jail, and he'd do everything he could to make sure they stayed there. Despite their success, a thin layer of sadness accompanied the thought that he and Mary were going home. Alone.

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Girls Will Be Girls - Chapter 22

That night, Marshall couldn't sleep. Spending those two nights sleeping next to Mary, feeling her warmth, having her reach for him in the night, had ruined him. Their second night together, after the tears, she had slept peacefully. No nightmares. He wanted to think that was because she felt safe in his arms. God, how he wanted to take her nightmares away.

Thoughts of Mary swirled through his brain. Knowing he had to get some sleep, he got up and dug through his go bag. When they had packed up, after that second night, their clothes had gotten scrambled. He let out a gleeful grunt as he pulled out one of Mary's tank tops. Without thinking, he put it on his pillow, and finally closed his eyes.

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In her own home, in her own bed at last, Mary tossed and turned. She missed Marshall's warmth. She even missed his snoring. _Wasn't that loud. _She missed the feeling of being in his arms. She wasn't a snuggler, but Marshall didn't make her feel smothered. The air mattress was a double—narrower than two twins. He had been right next to her and she never felt crowded. She missed his scent. _How weird is that?_ Her eyes snapped open.

She missed the solid muscled body that had slept next to her for two nights. She missed the certainty that if the night terrors came, he'd be there. He'd wake her up, talking her back to the reality of his comfort. She missed his low whispered voice as he reassured her. She missed her partner. She missed Marshal.

It seemed as if he'd been asleep mere minutes when he heard the doorbell ring, followed by pounding on his front door. Marshall first checked his phone. No messages. The thumping continued. Groaning from tired muscles and too little sleep, he got up and headed for the door.

"Coming," he yelled, voice rough with sleep. "I'm coming. Hold your horses." Marshall's sweet dreams were rapidly dissipating. He didn't have many visitors. Few people knew where he lived. It could be anyone, friend or foe at his front door.

Checking the peep hole, he was surprised to see his partner. Her expression was solemn, her eyes red. The graze at her hairline was unbandaged. Had someone in her family died? He unlocked and opened the door quickly. This couldn't be good. "Mary," he greeted her warily. "Everything okay?"

She shook her head and raised her hand and pointed, asking to come in. "Sure, sure. C'mon in. Can I get you something?"

Marshall, always polite and courteous, the perfect host. Just the opposite of his cantankerous partner. "Beer?" Mary asked, the first word she uttered since arriving at his door. She looked troubled. She looked at him. "Uh..." she reconsidered. "Maybe something stronger."

"Sure." Marshall complied softly, he knew she was done with the medication the hospital provided. He got the bottle of whiskey they had started a few weeks ago. He sat in the armchair. Mary sat on the couch. Pouring two fingers into each glass he saluted her. Mary clinked her glass with his and said in a thin, shaky voice, "To partners."

They each took a sip and then Marshall asked, "Can't sleep?"

"No," Mary replied quietly, shaking her head, and taking another sip.

"Nightmares?" Marshall had plenty of those. The worst ones replayed the scene in the hospital corridor, after Mary had been gut shot. The terror, sorrow and guilt he had felt then haunted him every time. After the firefight they'd had, the shot to the head Mary took, he expected nightmares. He remembered holding her, helping her out of the hellish dream that first night on the air mattress. He was glad to be there. Glad he could comfort her. In some small way, it relieved the guilt he felt for not being there, for not being her partner, when she was gut shot, when she was kidnapped.

"In the hospital, you promised we'd talk later Marshall. It's later." She took a sip, and gazed at his sleep tousled hair and five o'clock shadow. Clad only in a marshal's t-shirt and rocket ship jammies, he looked sexy as hell. _Oh my god Shannon. Keep it together._

Wanting to be perfectly clear about what exactly Mary wanted to discuss he decided to just ask. "What do you want to talk about?" Mary fiddled with her glass and gulped another slug of the smoky liquor. Putting her glass down, she knit her hands together and stared at him. "I want to talk about you," she said. "And me," she added, dropping her head so that he was staring at the pink line the bullet had made in her hair.

She cleared her throat. "Marshall you're my best friend, my only friend. I owe you my life. I want you to be happy" she said earnestly. "What can I do? How can I help you be happy?"

Marshall inhaled sharply and sat back. He wasn't sure he'd ever be ready to talk about that. Pouring himself more liquid courage, he gazed at his partner, the woman who had haunted his dreams for years. The woman who's fire inspired him and lit his own passion. What could he say and not screw this up?

Mary had no idea what he was thinking. When he hesitated, she asked, "Do you want me to call Abigail? I could explain things to her. Get you back in her good graces, if that would do it."

He shook his head, no.

When he remained silent, thinking, Mary teased him. "Cat got your tongue?"

"No, Mare. It's you. You've got my tongue. You are the best partner I've ever had. You are brave and beautiful. You have a real talent for finding criminals, but you can console innocent witnesses. I've never met a woman like you. You're smart, strong and a damn good shot. Stan showed me your recertification scores." He nodded to acknowledge her accomplishments. Coughing as a slug of whiskey headed for the wrong pipe, he pointed at her. "Those are damn good scores. Maybe your best ever."

Covering his mouth he coughed and then continued. "You uncovered this whole ABQPD, Mike Washington, Chicago mob mess all by yourself."

When she shook her head and began to protest, he raised a hand, shushing her.

"You did. You dug and dug. The most amazing thing you did, to me, is that you asked for help. You asked for my help. You asked Stan to get the accountants help. You didn't go all lone wolf. That...that is a huge. For a woman who says she hates change, you've done it. You've changed. I missed it." Shaking his head, looking to the side, he mumbled, "How did I miss that?"

Mary cleared her throat, and looked at Marshall. It was her turn. "After Raph and I broke up, after Mexico," she winced, "I felt there was something missing. A huge hole where my heart should be. I've been called an unfeeling bitch for good reason. After Spanky, the kidnapping, I took your advice. I actually thought about what I want. It took me a while, but I finally figured it out. It scared me, Marshall. Made me sad."

Marshall leaned forward, his head titled up to see her face. He put his elbows on his knees and cradled his glass. She had actually taken his advice. Miracles do happen. "Don't make me beg, Mare. What did you decide?"

Mary took another sip of whiskey, sat back and let her eyes wander around the room. Marshall's place held a lot of history, his family history. Photos of his family and shooting awards were framed on the wall. Native artifacts lined the shelves. Each had a small card describing what it was and when and where it was found. Typical meticulous Marshall.

Tired of waiting Marshall prompted, "What **do** you want Mare?"

Mary looked to the side, lowered her head and whispered, "You."

Marshall was astounded. Did Mary just about admit she loved him? "What do you mean you want me? How do you want me?"

Mary chuckled drily, refusing to look at him, "Any way I can." She looked up, but wouldn't meet his eyes. Nodding to herself, she continued, "Being partners is good. More than good."

Marshall put his drink down and reached out to take her hand. When she moved back, out of range, he got up and sat next to her on the couch.

"You're scared," he observed. "The woman who just survived a shootout with the mob and the cartel is scared. Nothing scares you Mare. Why does what you want scare you?" He was shocked to see tears silently streaming down her face.

"I want you, but I shouldn't. We're partners and partners shouldn't be 'together' like that. It screws with your ability to observe and act in dangerous situations. Besides, you're smart and brave and cultured, and I'm impulsive and abrasive and crass. You deserve better. You deserve someone like Abigail. Someone who can give you what you want in life – a fancy dress wedding, a comfortable home, children. I want you to be happy, and if that means never having more than your friendship, your partnership, it's enough. It's more than enough." Embarrassed by her emotional outburst, Mary poured herself another drink.

"What about what I want Mare?" Marshall turned to look at her, taking her face in both his hands so that she had to look at him. "What about me? What about what I want?"

"I know what you want," Mary replied. "I just told you."

"That's right, Mare. You **told** me. You never asked." He took her hand and wove their fingers together. "Ask me, Mare. Ask me."

Mary held his gaze, his image blurry and whispered, "What do you want Marshall?"

"You," he answered hoarsely. "Just you."

"But, but.." she spluttered. "I don't make you happy. I irritate you. I aggravate you. I tease you and make fun of your hobbies. That's not happiness, Marshall."

Letting go of her face he hmphed and sat back, "Shows what you know."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mary was getting angry. She came here, bared her soul to Marshall and he ...he insisted she didn't know what he wanted? Of course she knew. He was her partner. She knew better than anyone what he deserved. How could he say he wanted her? They were like oil and water. It would never work and she'd lose the best friend, the only friend she ever had.

Marshall interrupted her maelstrom of confusion. "You don't really know what I want. You never asked. You assumed from things I've said that I wanted the white picket fence, 2.5 kids and a sheepdog. I don't even like sheepdogs," he joshed.

"Y'know that saying – Life's what happens while you were making other plans? Mare, you are what happened to me. I don't care about the picket fence. I don't even care about the 2.5 kids..."

She interrupted him. "Of course you want kids. You're great with kids. You'll make a wonderful dad."

"And you will make a wonderful mother." He said softly, moving closer to her.

She spit out the sip she had just taken, spraying whiskey on his t-shirt. "What have you been smoking? Me a mom? Never..."

"Uh uh uh," he cautioned. "Never say never! Look how you've changed just in the last 6 months. You've been polite. You didn't go off half cocked and get killed when you discovered the corruption at ABQPD. You pursued a long convoluted investigation to a successful end. And," he paused, chagrined as well as irritated, "you never gave up your source."

Seeing that she remained unconvinced, he continued. "Look at all the witnesses you've helped. Like Martha and Roman. Martha is meeting Roman's friends from the Gay/Straight Alliance. You didn't try to 'fix' them. You guided them to fixing themselves."

Mary sat back and rolled her glass around between her hands. She placed it on the coffee table and said, "You know what's really ironic. . . "

Marshall shifted to face her and teased, "Don't say ironic."

"Shut up, numnutz," she said without rancor. Mary gave him a sad smile, her eyes soft. "I came here to fix you. To make sure you got your chance at happy. You deserve it."

Marshall placed his glass next to hers. "You make me happy. Being with you makes me happy."

Mary wasn't convinced. "Even when I complain about going to a museum or tease you about origami?"

"Even then," he replied.

When it looked as if Mary was curling her hands into fists, Marshall reared back, waiting for her to deliver the punch. Instead of the punch he expected, Mary grabbed his shirt with both hands and pulled his face close to hers, noses almost touching.

Mary shrugged, resigned, a warm smile reflected in her eyes. "What the hell."

Her lips hovered close to his. Before they met, she muttered, "This won't hurt a bit."

And it didn't.

Fini.

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A/N: There aren't enough IPS episodes that show Mary as I see her. This is an attempt to remedy that. Hope you enjoyed the ride. I don't think I'm done with these two yet.


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